


stars fading but i linger on, dear

by ginnydear



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Dates, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnydear/pseuds/ginnydear
Summary: “Do you need anything else before I swim on home?” Simon jokes, and Bram giggles a beat late. He looks up at Simon, his eyes giving him what he knows is a distorted image, but Simon’s never looked lovelier than in that moment. Bram lets out a long sigh.“A hug,” he says at the end, the first thought that runs through his brain. He immediately wants to take it back, his eyes opening wider as he realizes what he’s said. His anxieties take over and he’s suddenly sure that Simon’s about to laugh in his face and leave and that’ll be the end of their friendship.- or the college cuddling au





	stars fading but i linger on, dear

**Author's Note:**

> happy pride month my friends!!
> 
> this was loosely inspired by a fic i read for another fandom recently, although i say loosely because the only thing i took from that fic was "platonic cuddling". the plot grew as a long series of texts i sent to ana one night at work, and this grew to the behemoth you see before you. 
> 
> shoutout to [caitlin](http://ginnyweaslays.tumblr.com/) and [valentina](https://twitter.com/ginnymweasleys) for catching all of the dumb mistakes my addled brain made. 
> 
> also shoutout to my girlfriend, grace, because i love her. 
> 
> title is from dream a little dream of me (the mamas & the papas version but any version really)

Bram doesn’t know how this happened.

There’s an arm around his shoulder as he stands in the packed hallway of the house, a red cup in his hand that smells an awful lot like death, and a weird feeling in his stomach he can’t attribute to the alcohol. Someone tries to walk down the hallway, and everyone starts to yell, Garrett the loudest from where he’s next to Bram. The hallway is mostly the soccer team and a few people Bram’s seen around, so he relaxes a little.

Not a lot. Just enough.

Enough, at first, to be jammed between Garrett and Nick against the wall. Enough to let Garrett sling an arm around his shoulders and jostle him slightly. Enough to smile at Nick when he pokes Bram’s side playfully at something Bram wasn’t particularly paying attention to.

Enough to, for a moment, lose his personal bubble and let himself recognize how long it’s been since he’s hugged anyone.

“Hey! No! Ye shall not pass!”

Garrett is yelling again, and he lets go of Bram’s shoulders to point a finger at whoever is thinking of walking down the hallway. Bram leans forward a bit and frowns as the girl glares at Garrett before going back the way she came, holding up her middle finger. The hallway erupts in laughter, and Bram joins in quietly.

“Laughlin, you’re never going to get laid with that attitude,” someone yells, and now everyone’s yelling, and Garrett is flipping everyone off, his shoulder bumping against Bram’s. He turns and offers Bram a smile in apology, and Bram just shrugs his shoulders up to his ears.

“Bram,” Nick says, and Bram turns his head to look at him. The world’s beginning to get a little hazy, and he fights off that non-alcohol induced feeling in his stomach when Nick grips his elbow. “Come with me to find something to eat.”

Bram obliges, mostly because he’s feeling famished, but also because Nick’s a calmer presence than Garrett and the rest of the team packed in the hall. They squeeze through the mess of legs and flailing arms until they’re headed back towards the living room of the house, Nick keeping his hand on Bram’s elbow.

“You’re always so quiet man,” Nick says when they enter the kitchen, which has to be the least occupied room of the house at the moment. The drinks are all laid out on tables in the living room, and Bram’s thankful for the calm energy of the room as they dig into bags of chips.

“Sorry,” Bram replies, but Nick shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s cool man! Like, you do you, you know? I just never know what’s going on up there,” Nick says, gently tapping Bram’s forehead, and he giggles suddenly. Nick’s eyes light up as he laughs, shaking his head. “He giggles!”

“Hey!” Bram says, grabbing a bag of chips and holding it to his chest, affronted. Nick looks longingly at the chips before searching through other bags to find something else he’d like. Bram’s vaguely aware that someone’s stumbling into the kitchen, his head too heavy to turn. Nick perks up though, a smile breaking out across his face.

“Simon!” Nick practically yells, almost like he’s surprised, and then someone else ( _Simon_ , Bram thinks to himself) is coming into view, wrapping his arms around Nick’s shoulders. Bram almost chokes on the chip he forgets to chew when moon-gray eyes land on his face.

“Simon, this is my soccer buddy, Bram; I’ve told you about him, right? Well, this is my soccer buddy, Bram. Bram, this is that pain in the ass best friend I’ve told you about,” Nick slurs, waving his hands between Bram and Simon. Bram’s infinitely happy he’s holding onto the bag of chips, because he doesn’t know what he would’ve done with his hands otherwise. As it is, he nods his head at Simon, who smiles openly at him.

“You’ve told me about Bram, once or twice. Complained is more like it, but...” Simon smirks at Nick, and Bram’s eyebrows come together.

“Complained?” Bram asks, and Nick rolls his eyes, reaching over to punch Simon on the shoulder. Simon yelps, reaching up to pinch Nick’s side in retaliation.

“Nick doesn’t particularly like when people are better than him at soccer,” Simon says, and Nick turns away to rustle through the bags of chips on the counter again. Bram laughs, covering his mouth when he remembers there’s chips in his mouth still.

“Well, Nick must not like most of the team, then,” Bram says, watching in fascination as Simon’s eyes light up at the dig. Nick twirls around, glaring at Bram, but it’s nothing compared to the sound of Simon’s hysterical laughter.

“Low blow, Greenfeld,” Nick says as he grabs the bag of chips out of Bram’s arms and makes a run for it out of the kitchen. The song changes in the living room and the bass shakes the house a bit. Simon’s wiping at his eyes with the sleeves of his hoodie, and Bram takes a moment to admire the messiness of Simon’s honey-blonde hair.

“He’s going to kill me,” Bram mumbles, feeling bereft without the chips in his arms. They felt like a buffer between him and Simon, an easy thing to do with his hands. As it stands, he shoves his hands into his pockets and tries not to close in on himself. His mom says it makes him look weird.

“No, he’s not. He’ll get over it soon enough,” Simon says sincerely, turning on the faucet and cupping his hands in the sink. Bram tries to look away as Simon drinks the water out of his hands; he really does.

“There’s cups, you know,” Bram says against his better judgement, an alcohol-induced decision. Simon snorts into his hands as he drops the rest of the water into the sink and turns off the faucet.

“Next, you’ll be telling me we have straws,” Simon teases lightly, and Bram shrugs his shoulders.

“Actually,” Bram starts, and Simon laughs.

Someone stumbles into the kitchen and Bram looks over in time to see the girl’s eyes linger on Simon before she straightens up and grabs a stack of cups off the table. She looks at Bram for a moment before her eyes go back to Simon. Simon isn’t paying her any attention, though, his focus on the food on the counter, and she looks a little disappointed. Bram isn’t blind, and he certainly isn’t straight. Bram doesn’t know if he’d be able to speak around Simon, especially alone, without the aid of alcohol.

“Oh, yes!”

Bram looks back at Simon in time to see Simon grabbing a package of Oreos out of the mess on the counter. He’s smiling at them happily, cradling them to his chest for a moment before he sees Bram staring at him. Bram tries to look away, but then Simon’s holding out the package carefully.

“You know, Oreos are my favorite,” Simon says matter-of-factly, and Bram nods. He reaches into the package and pulls one out, trying to ignore the way Simon’s watching him.

“And you’re sharing them with me?” Bram teases, taking a bite of the cookie. Simon nods slowly.

“I’m a little drunk. If I were a sober man, I would’ve probably gone into the backyard and eaten them by myself,” Simon jokes easily, and Bram smiles.

“You could still go do that,” Bram says, and Simon shakes his head.

“Can’t leave you here by yourself,” Simon starts, shoving the package of cookies under his arm. “Nick might come find you and kill you.”

“Oh, and you’re going to protect me?” Bram says, standing up to his full height so he’s a little taller than Simon. Simon goes up on his tip toes, chin jutted out in defiance, and Bram chuckles as Simon stumbles slightly. He reaches out and catches Simon as he lists towards Bram, the package of cookies seemingly more important than catching himself on the counter. Simon’s free hand grips Bram’s bicep, Bram’s hands resting easily on Simon’s sternum, and they both laugh quietly.

“I would,” Simon says as he rights himself, and Bram misses the feeling of his hand wrapped around his bicep already. Bram tries to stifle the feeling between his shoulder blades.

“No offense, but I doubt you’d win a fight against a spider,” Bram says, and Simon balks at him.

“I would never fight a spider! I don’t even kill them, really, just put them on a piece of paper and put them back outside,” Simon mumbles the last part, and Bram feels his heart swelling in his chest.

“There’s like, two million spiders for every one person on the planet, Simon,” Bram says before he can stop himself, and Simon’s eyes bug out of his head. “No matter where you are in the world, you’re no less than like, six feet from one.”

Simon looks around, his mouth falling open slightly. When he tilts his head back, Bram resolutely does _not_ stare at the line of Simon’s throat.

“You just ruined my life,” Simon pouts, pointing a finger at Bram. “I’m going to go eat my Oreos in the backyard like I’d planned.”

He turns on his heel and takes a few steps before he pauses. Bram doesn’t want the interaction to end, doesn’t know where Nick went or if Garrett’s still in the hallway yelling. He _really_ wants another Oreo.

“Are you coming or what?” Simon asks, and that’s when Bram realizes that Simon’s waiting for him. Trading the beaming smile he wants to flash at Simon for a smaller one, he grabs the package of cookies out from under Simon’s arm and takes off towards the backyard. “Hey!”

Bram’s already sitting on the grass when Simon catches up with him, panting slightly. Bram suddenly wishes he’d had some water, his fingers tingling where they’re clasped around the Oreo package and his limbs starting to feel heavy. It’s getting late, or early depending on how you think about it, and the backyard is mostly empty.

Bram can see his breath as he lays back on the grass, balancing the Oreos on his chest. Simon comes over and lays down next to him, settling in easily. Their arms are pressed together from shoulder to elbow, and that feeling is back between Bram’s shoulder blades.

They’re quiet for a bit, both chewing easily on the rest of the Oreos in the package. Simon shifts until he has a foot flat on the ground, his knee swaying slightly in Bram’s periphery. The music gets quieter, and Bram thinks it’s because someone’s finally shut the back door.

“The night sky is so beautiful here,” Simon whispers randomly, and Bram looks over in time to see Simon’s eyes soften as he traces the patterns of the stars. Swallowing thickly, Bram looks back up at the stars and shifts his shoulder against Simon’s.

“The night sky is beautiful everywhere,” Bram argues, and Simon nods.

“Yes, it is. But it’s most beautiful right here.”

Bram smiles as he shakes his head, tracing the patterns of the stars. They’re twinkling down at him like they know, and he hears Simon huff out a laugh next to him.

“It makes you feel small, you know?” Simon says, like Bram’s supposed to pick up the thread. Bram furrows his brow and blinks slowly.

“Makes you feel alone,” Bram mumbles, before he can filter it out. He tenses for a moment but then Simon’s hand reaches over and fumbles for an Oreo, and Bram doesn’t imagine the way Simon’s hand lingers.

“Do you feel alone, Bram?” Simon asks softly, chewing on the cookie as he waits for Bram to answer. Part of Bram never wants to open his mouth again, but there’s alcohol buzzing in his system and the solid warmth of Simon next to him urging him on.

“We aren’t ever truly alone, are we?” he turns his head to look at Simon, but Simon’s gazing up at the stars still. “I suppose it’s more like… loneliness, being here at college. It feels like I’m just, out here in the ocean, trying to figure out which way is to shore. Sometimes a fish will swim by and bump into me but they’ll keep moving because they’re searching for something, too.”

He wants to curl in on himself, hide up under a blanket and never crawl back out. His entire body feels warm as the words he’s just let tumble from his lips fill the space between them, and for a split second he hopes that Simon’s drunk enough to have fallen asleep. But then Simon reaches over and finds Bram’s hand where it’s holding the Oreo package, squeezing once.

“That’s beautiful, Bram,” Simon whispers sincerely, his voice soft as the words seep into Bram’s skin. The feeling between his shoulders goes away for a moment, and Bram smiles up at the stars.

Later, Bram stands on the front porch, following the crowd of people out of the house as the party breaks up. Nick’s next to him, whining about his stomach and the fact that he’s puked multiples times. Garrett’s up ahead, gesturing wildly as he talks to a girl he’s been trying to pick up for weeks. And on his other side, closer than Nick, is Simon, laughing along as Nick whines.

When they reach the point on their walk home that Nick and Simon go left, and Bram goes right, Simon stops Bram for a moment. They haven’t said much since that moment in the backyard, and Bram’s really hoping he can make it home before he literally cries from embarrassment. But then Simon stands up on his toes and wraps his arms around Bram’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Against his better judgement, Bram melts into the embrace a lot more enthusiastically than he would if he were sober.

When they break apart and go their separate ways, Bram thinks it’s possible he won’t see Simon ever again, as they’ve been going to the same school for over a year and haven’t crossed paths.

But he really hopes he does.

\---

There’s a breeze sweeping through campus, pushing the fallen leaves across the ground in whirlwinds that people stop to stare at. Bram isn’t one of those people though, so he skirts around groups of people who stop to watch the pretty leaves as he makes his way across the open quad area towards the library. He needs to print out the project details from his history class before heading home.

He’s almost to the glass doors when he hears someone familiar off to his right, calling his name. He turns his head and works a smile onto his face as Simon jogs up to him, hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Bram hasn’t seen him in over a week, not since the party. Bram had thought his sober brain world have a better reaction to Simon’s messy hair, soft lopsided smile, and clear gray eyes, but no such luck. Bram’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Long time, no see,” Simon jokes as he reaches Bram, reaching out easily and giving Bram’s shoulder a squeeze. Bram wills his mouth to work before he opens it.

“And whose fault is that?” he says, and Simon frowns comically, his hand coming up to cup his chin.

“Can’t be mine, I’m all over this campus,” he replies, and Bram chuckles softly. He shakes his head, moving a little closer to Simon as people walk around them.

“I doubt you go everywhere,” Bram replies, and Simon nods.

“You’re right, I stay as far away from the math buildings as possible.”

Bram laughs a little louder at that, looking up to meet Simon’s eyes. They’re sparkling at him and Bram swallows. Before he can speak though, Simon’s leaning in slightly.

“Are you headed inside?”

“Yeah,” Bram replies easily. “I need to print the project outline for my history course.”

“Which course?” Simon asks, nudging Bram along until they’re walking side by side into the building.

“Race, Ethnicity, and Gender in American Culture, with Marcus,” Bram says, and Simon’s face lights up.

“You’re printing out the focus essay project paperwork? I have him on Mondays and Wednesdays. He went over the project with us yesterday,” Simon says excitedly, and Bram nods.

“We just found out today,” Bram replies, walking over to one of the printers. He pulls out his flash drive and plugs it in, pointedly not looking over at how Simon’s leaning against the counter.

“It sounds like a really cool project, and I can’t wait to dive into the list he’s given us and figure out what I want to write about,” Simon says quietly as the printer works. Bram takes the papers and pockets his flash drive again, smiling at Simon. He staples the papers and slips his backpack off his shoulders to store them away in his notebook.

“Are you staying to study?” Simon asks, and Bram looks up at him. Simon’s bottom lip pops out from between his teeth and he smiles easily.

“No, actually,” Bram says slowly, “I have a single room so I usually study there.”

Simon hasn’t looked away yet, holding eye contact just a bit longer than most people usually do with Bram, and it means that Bram can see that isn’t the answer Simon was hoping for. He looks disappointed, for a millisecond, and Bram can’t handle that.

“If you want,” he starts, his hands flexing where they’re wrapped around his backpack straps. He hefts his backpack up on his shoulder. “You can come to mine and we can look over the project together.”

Simon’s eyes sparkle a little in the dull lights of the library. Bram beats at the butterflies in his stomach with a stick.

They walk in silence back across campus towards the dorms. Bram can’t tell if it’s comfortable or not for Simon, but he’s loathe to be the first one to speak. Simon looks perfectly at ease, and Bram hates him a little for that.

When Bram unlocks the door, he says a silent prayer that he remembered to tidy up his room before he left that morning. Peeking inside, he’s relieved to see that there’s no underwear laying on the carpet, or random papers thrown about.

“I didn’t know single rooms were so nice,” Simon says as he walks inside, slipping his backpack off his shoulder. He’s looking around, his eyes moving from the desk that Bram’s been meaning to tidy up to Bram’s hastily made bed. Simon lingers on the World Cup poster above Bram’s desk, his eyes lazily moving to the few personal pictures Bram has tacked up.

“Is that your mom?” Simon asks, wincing after a moment. “Sorry, I don’t mean to like, ask personal questions.”

Bram shakes his head, sitting down on his bed and unzipping his backpack. Simon sits down at the desk, using his foot to move the chair on its base.

“You’re fine. That’s from one of our Myrtle Beach vacations,” Bram offers, watching as Simon turns to look at the picture again. When he looks back at Bram, he’s smiling.

“You’re missing a front tooth,” he says, and Bram ducks his head.

“Don’t remind me,” Bram laughs, feeling a bit of the tension in his stomach dissipate. Simon chuckles, pulling a notebook out of his pack.

“So,” Simon starts, resting his elbows on his knees as he opens his notebook. “Have you looked over the list yet?”

Bram can talk about schoolwork. He can talk about schoolwork for hours. It’s easier than personal questions, or small talk. He’s rarely interested in talk about the weather, or what football team won that weekend, or what happened on some show last night.

Bram pulls out the outline, flipping to the topics page. It’s a wide variety, as there’s a lot to cover in the class, and he supposes this is the professors way of getting to see what his students are really interested in.

“First glance,” Bram says, shaking the paper. Simon nods, his finger running over the list.

“I want to do something from the ‘gender’ column. I don’t feel like I can talk about something like race when I look this white,” he says, and Bram covers his mouth as he laughs loudly. Simon smiles at him.

“You could write about white privilege,” Bram offers, but Simon shakes his head.

“You know there’s going to be at least two other white kids who write about that. No, I was thinking about writing about toxic masculinity, and its roots in media and culture.”

Bram stares at Simon for a moment, watching as he runs his finger over the paper. His tongue is sticking out slightly, glasses sliding off his nose, and he reaches up to push them back up his face before he looks up. Bram looks down at his paper quickly.

“That’s a good topic,” Bram replies when his mouth works.

“I feel I could use my dad as an example of someone who’s viewed as a stereotypical jock but breaks from traditional masculinity,” Simon continues, his face opening up as he seemingly figures out his paper topic.

“What’s your dad like?” Bram asks curiously, and Simon’s eyes snap back to him. They stare at each other for a moment before Simon speaks.

“He was that all-American high school quarterback with a sports scholarship and a fast car. In his senior portrait, he’s holding a football like one would a baby. It’s my mom’s favorite picture, she laughs at it all the time. They’ve been dating since high school, by the way, so I think she looks at that picture and flashes back to then.” Simon smiles as Bram laughs.

“Like a baby?” Bram asks, and Simon nods. He crosses his arms and holds one side higher, twisting his torso slightly. He stares down at his arms lovingly.

“Just like this,” he says, and Bram covers his mouth again as he laughs.

“Do you have a picture of this? I have to see,” Bram says, and Simon nods. He pulls out his phone as he continues to speak.

“My mom’s always been a feminist, my dad says as far back as when they met, and I think she was a big influence on his world view. Although, my grandma’s also a liberal feminist, so he might’ve just been raised that way,” Simon says quietly, scrolling through his phone. He stops and stares at something before he scrolls again.

“Anyway, so he’s big into college football and always wants to shoot hoops with me even though we had to move the basketball hoop because I broke a window that one time. He works on cars and yells at the TV on Sundays but he also watches trashy reality television with my mom and let my sister paint his nails repeatedly when she was learning how when she was seven. He had the biggest nails, you see, so it was easy to practice on.” Simon looks up and Bram nods.

“Sounds like a great dad,” Bram says quietly, and Simon smiles. He looks down at his phone again, his finger coming to a halt.

“Ah-HA, here it is.”

Simon plops down on the bed right next to Bram, jostling Bram slightly. Simon looks up apologetically before holding up the phone for Bram to see. He’s so focused on Simon’s thigh pressed up against his that he almost doesn’t comprehend what he’s seeing.

“Oh my god,” Bram breathes out, beginning to giggle. The picture is priceless, worth every one of their laughs as they stare at it. Bram’s struck with how much Simon looks like his dad, even though Bram can barely see the face in the picture. Simon swipes to the left to another picture.

“This is the one they used, he looks a lot less weird,” Simon says, and Bram nods. Mr. Spier is looking up at the camera, a dazzling grin on his face. Bram was right; Simon looks just like him.

“I definitely think you should write your paper on him,” Bram says, and Simon smiles. He’s still sitting right next to Bram, apparently not a fan of personal space, and Bram’s trying not to think about Simon putting his hand between Bram’s shoulders.

“Good, it’s settled then. What are you thinking about doing?” Simon asks, locking his phone and shifting to put it back in his pocket. He leans into Bram and Bram silently counts to ten.

“Something with race, as I think I’m one of only a few people of color in the class, and why not write about racism,” Bram says with a shrug, and Simon nods.

“That’s a broad topic though. I feel like Marcus will ask you to narrow it down.”

Bram nods, looking around his room for a moment.

“How about ‘straight white male’ being the default in our society, and how that’s categorically untrue now,” Bram offers, and Simon nods. He’s looking at Bram like he’s attempting to see through him and Bram sucks on his teeth.

“I like it. It’s time to take those guys down a peg.”

He pats Bram’s shoulder gently before standing up, and Bram doesn’t know if it’s the contact or the statement that has his brain whirring.

\---

Garrett’s lamenting the wonders of cheese when Bram’s phone goes off. Reaching into his pocket, he rolls his eyes as Garrett sits back on the bleachers and starts talking about the benefits of extra sharp cheddar.

Bram swallows when he sees it’s a text from Simon. Somehow, when Simon was leaving the other day, Bram had managed to suggest they get each other’s numbers so they could talk about the project. Simon had made a joke that there were other things in the world to talk about besides schoolwork, and that’s how Bram found himself texting Simon about Game of Thrones all morning.

_Simon: you know, i’m beginning to think you don’t actually watch the show, your opinions are crap_

Bram snorts at that, finally attracting Garrett’s attention.

“Who you texting?” Garrett asks, reaching for the phone. Bram pulls it to his chest, glaring at his friend.

“Rude,” Bram says with a laugh, slowly tilting down his phone to respond. Garrett tries to look again and Bram shoves him.

“Okay, who’s rude now?” Garrett exclaims, grinning widely at Bram. Bram shakes his head.

“Stop acting like a jealous boyfriend,” Bram says with a laugh, and Garrett rolls his eyes.

“As if. If anyone would be a jealous boyfriend, it would be you,” Garrett replies, and Bram looks at him critically.

“Oh?” Bram questions, and Garrett shrugs.

“I mean, maybe? I don’t know, dude, I don’t think about you like that,” Garrett says as he pulls out his phone, and Bram nods.

“Good, because I don’t think about you like that either.”

Garrett snorts, but he’s smiling, so Bram looks down at his phone. Simon’s sent another text.

_Simon: you busy later? I’m going to study at the coffee shop, could use my study partner_

_Bram: we studied together once. how are we suddenly “study partners” ??_

_Simon: because i say so_

Bram rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile making its way up his face and he only has a second before Garrett’s trying to look at his phone again. Bram slaps it against his chest, locking it.

“Dude, will you stop!” Bram practically yells, and Garrett laughs.

“I just wanna know what pretty girl has your attention,” Garrett says, missing the way Bram’s jaw tightens.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time. I need to go study.”

\---

Studying with Simon is an adventure.

He’s obviously a good student, and takes his studies very seriously, but he also gets distracted easily and goes off on tangents that aren’t related at all to psychology or English. He finds various ways to distract himself, usually involving his phone or pieces of paper folded into little triangles. But as they study together, Bram soon finds himself roped into whatever distraction Simon’s created.

“Look, look at those two,” Simon whispers, leaning forward over his open math textbook, his worksheet blank. Bram spares them a glance before he turns and looks at the couple Simon’s spotted.

“What about them?”

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Simon asks, clasping his hands together around his iced coffee. Bram’s pretty sure the coffee isn’t helping his ability to focus, but Simon drinks it like water.

“I don’t know, it looks pretty heated,” Bram says, looking away as the woman waves her hand. The man’s sitting still, hands in his lap. They haven’t even ordered anything.

“Make it up then,” Simon says, and Bram looks at him. Simon rolls his eyes, looking back over to the couple. He watches them for a moment, and then he speaks again.

“No, Brad, you don’t understand. The whole point of the show, the whole point, is that it’s about nothing. And that’s the brilliance of _Seinfeld_ ,” Simon says, his voice a few octaves higher. It’s breathy and a poor excuse at sounding feminine, but it has Bram in stitches.

“No, I think I understand just fine, Marsha. It’s about nothing, so it’s not a great show. How can a show about nothing even be good? Your taste in television is tearing us apart,” Simon continues as the man speaks, lowering his voice significantly. Bram covers his mouth, hoping the couple can’t hear him giggling hysterically.

“Oh, and _The Big Bang Theory_ is better? I don’t think so.”

“Simon, oh my god,” Bram leans back in his chair, holding his stomach as he continues to giggle. Simon looks away from the couple to look at Bram, and then he breaks and starts to giggle too.

“How do you come up with this?” Bram asks once he’s caught his breath, and Simon shrugs. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, the corners of his mouth struggling to turn up in a soft smile. They stare at each other a moment longer before Bram feels that tug in his stomach and he looks down.

“Get back to work,” Bram says lightly, picking up his pencil again. He takes a sip of tea and when he looks up, Simon is smiling down at his math book.

\---

Bram blinks as a piece of paper hits his forehead, bouncing down onto the books he has spread across the library table. He doesn’t look up, keeps his eyes on the vocabulary list he’s making flashcards for. He hears a frustrated sigh from across the table and clenches the pen in his hand to keep himself from looking up.

He startles slightly as a foot comes into contact with his, and then two feet are holding his foot hostage. He can feel the warmth on his face, and he bites his lip as he looks up. His foot drops back to the ground as he glares up at Simon.

“What?” he asks quietly, and Simon sighs.

“I’m bored,” Simon whines, and Bram laughs quietly.

“You’re the one who needs to study,” Bram replies, waving his pen at the mess Simon has laid out in front of him. Simon rolls his eyes, organizing his papers quietly.

“Who says I need to study? You’re the one who said you were in the library and I should come join you,” Simon counters, and Bram looks down at his flashcards. He has a massive vocabulary test in three days, and he needs to study in a place that is void of distractions. Inviting Simon had been, in hindsight, a mistake. Simon is the epitome of distractions.

“My mistake,” Bram jokes easily, looking up in time to see Simon pout in dramatic fashion. He reaches over and grabs the stack of flashcards Bram already finished and begins to sort through them.

“This just looks like all of the SAT words I tried to memorize,” Simon says after a moment, and Bram nods.

“Newhouse has a vocabulary quiz every month. He gives us a list of one hundred words that could be on the quiz, but there’s only ever fifty. I hate him,” Bram says as he writes the final definition, handing it over for Simon to place in the pile. Simon sits back in his seat, one of his feet coming up to rest on his chair so his knee presses against his chest. Bram rubs at his eyes.

“Munificent.”

Bram looks over at Simon, his eyebrows coming together. Simon’s staring back evenly, an expectant look on his face. Bram shakes his head as he tries to remember the definition.

“Uh, very generous,” Bram says after a moment, and Simon nods. He places the flashcard down on the table and tilts his head at the next one.

“Preclude.”

“Make impossible, especially beforehand.”

“Like me, distracting you while you made flashcards.” Simon grins, and Bram shakes his head.

“You’re only mildly distracting,” Bram says honestly, and Simon grins.

“Veracity.”

It continues as such; Simon with his chin on his knee as he reads off the cards to Bram. The sun’s beginning to set outside, the sky turning a brilliant pink outside the window they’re near, and Bram watches as the afternoon light paints colors in Simon’s hair. Every time Bram gets one right, Simon smiles at him softly before flipping the card onto the table. It’s making the fuzzy mess in Bram’s head worse as they go along.

“Cupidity.”

Bram frowns, his eyes stalling where they’re stuck to the way Simon’s shirt collar slouches across his collarbones. He wracks his brain for the answer, his eyes casting down at the table as he thinks, and he hears Simon cough to cover up a laugh.

“Shut up, I know this,” Bram says, and Simon laughs clearly now. It’s quiet, soft, barely echoing out of their little corner of the library. It fills the bubble they’ve created over the course of fifty vocabulary words.

“You give up?” Simon asks, and Bram looks up to find him looking across the table in pure glee. Even if Bram suddenly knew the answer, he wouldn’t say now.

“Yeah, I do,” Bram says, and Simon’s grin is different from the soft smiles from before. It’s a little triumphant, like he’s been waiting for Bram to slip up. Bram looks away, towards the window, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Simon bite his bottom lip.

“It’s greed for money or possessions,” Simon places the card down, “though I was sure it had to do with that dumb little baby people talk about around Valentine’s Day.”

Bram laughs so suddenly and loud that the librarian comes over to remind them the library is a quiet place. When she walks away, they dissolve into more laughter and hurriedly pack up before she gets the chance to kick them out.

“You’re ridiculous, Simon Spier,” Bram says when they rush out the front doors, still laughing. Bram doesn’t know what they’re laughing about anymore. He likes that.

“Ridiculously distracting,” Simon counters, and Bram nods. The sun’s completely behind the horizon now, and the streetlamps are starting to come on in the quad. Bram knows they only have a little bit of their walk back to their dorms together before they’ll split up.

“Yes, absolutely distracting,” Bram agrees as they meander across the quad, their steps slow. Simon bumps into Bram once, his shoulder pressing against Bram’s for just a second, and Bram’s entire body warms in the cool evening air.

“If I’m so distracting, you might want to stop studying with me,” Simon teases, his lips turning up in a smirk. Bram rolls his eyes.

“Then who would make sure you don’t flunk out?” he asks, and Simon places his hand on his chest, mocking hurt.

“Excuse me, _Abraham_. I’ll have you know that I keep a solid B average, with or without you,” Simon gasps dramatically, and Bram’s laughing again. “Besides, if anyone’s distracting anyone, it’s you distracting me from keeping up my superb grades.”

“Oh, am I?” Bram laughs, his cheeks warming slightly. Simon’s still in character, keeping up the dramatic charade as they walk down the sidewalk.

“Of course you are, what with how you chew on your pen cap loudly, and tap your fingers on the desk,” Simon bemoans, and Bram giggles softly. Simon’s face lights up a little, and Bram looks away from him to follow the sidewalk down towards the dorms.

“I don’t chew that loudly,” Bram says after a moment, his fingers tangling at his stomach, fiddling nervously. They come to a stop at the corner, where they go their separate ways, and Simon reaches up to gently pull Bram’s hands apart.

“No, you really don’t.” Simon smiles kindly, squeezing Bram’s hands for a moment before letting go.

When Bram turns to walk away, the pressure of Simon’s fingers lingers on his skin, mixing with the feelings in his chest. Bram smiles the whole way home.

\---

 

_Simon: so what you’re telling me is you haven’t listened?_

_Bram: no what i’m saying is do i really have to?_

_Simon: abraham, i listened to the entirety of the album you sent me, you should be able to suck it up and listen to the one song i sent you_

_Bram: hmm seems unlikely_

_Simon: :( you wound me_

_Simon: i don’t know why we’re friends_

_Simon: friends don’t treat their friends like this_

_Bram: friends don’t continually bug their friends while they’re listening to the song they recommended_

_Bram: also, will you hurry up, your coffee’s melting_

_Simon: we can be friends again_

_Bram: were we ever not friends?_

_Simon: heuhehuehueh_

_Bram: i don’t know what that says_

\---

“Nick’s just mad he can’t make that shot.”

“I can make the shot –”

“No, you can’t.”

“Shut up, Greenfeld, we’re all not magically talented,” Nick says as he shoves at Bram’s shoulders, making Bram stumble slightly. He and Garrett laugh as Nick walks a little faster, following their teammates out of the locker room and back towards main campus.

“What are you doing after this?” Garrett asks Bram as they walk, and Bram pulls out his phone to check his texts.

“I’m going to grab some food with a friend,” Bram says, smiling down at his phone. Garrett leans over and Bram pulls his phone to his chest.

“You’re so secretive. You know, Nick says he’s seen you and his friend Simon around campus hanging out. Didn’t realize you guys were friends,” Garrett says, and Bram purses his lips.

“We’re - uh, we met at that party back in September,” Bram explains, and Garrett nods easily. Nick’s stopped ahead of them and falls into step with Bram as they reach him.

“Look at you, branching out,” Garrett teases lightly, and Bram shakes his head.

“Who’s branching out?” Nick asks, and Garrett leans around Bram to talk to Nick.

“Bram’s making new friends.”

“Oh, you mean Simon,” Nick says with a smile, and he cuffs Bram’s shoulder gently. “Nice job stealing my best friend.”

“I didn’t steal anyone!” Bram protests, and Nick shakes his head softly.

“Bram, I’m joking. Simon can’t stop being my best friend now, I know too much, but it’s cool that you guys are hanging out. We should all do something next weekend,” Nick says easily, and Bram’s shoulders relax again. Garrett’s looking at him steadily, and Bram bristles under his gaze.

“What?” he asks, and they all stop walking. Garrett just smiles at Bram, his eyes glancing down to Bram’s phone. There’s a moment where Bram thinks Garrett is going to call him out, make a point about the secretive texting and how Bram gazes at his phone sometimes, but then Garrett looks at Nick.

“Nicholas, we still getting burgers?” Garrett asks, and Nick nods.

“You bet your ass, Laughlin,” Nick replies, hiking his gym bag farther up his shoulder and grinning widely. Garrett claps Bram on the shoulder and nods at him.

“Have fun getting food with your friend,” Garrett says quietly, just quietly enough that Nick can’t hear. Bram nods goodbye as they walk away from him, his eyebrows coming together. But then he hears his name from up ahead, and he looks over to see Simon sitting on one of the benches in the exterior quad.

_Bram: hey…. thanks_

_Garrett: no problem man :)_

\---

 

“I don’t have an umbrella,” Simon says as he stands at the window in Bram’s room, hands clasped behind his back. Bram snorts from where he’s sitting on his bed, knees up to his chest, _The Catcher in the Rye_ balanced on his knees. His head’s starting to get a little fuzzy as his body relaxes against his pillows and the sound of the rain lulls him into a calm state, but he has seven more pages to read before he can call it quits.

“Didn’t seem to stop you earlier,” Bram replies as he looks up to where Simon’s standing. Simon smiles at him, reaching up to touch his hair. “Still walked here and then proceeded to shake water everywhere.”

“You act like I deliberately came in here with a hose and doused all of your belongings,” Simon counters, walking away from the window to sit at the end of Bram’s bed, scooting up so his back is against the wall. Bram’s tired, traitorous brain wants Simon to scoot up the bed and sit next to him. Bram shakes that thought away.

“You basically did,” Bram mumbles as he tilts the book back towards his face, ignoring Simon as he stretches and gets comfortable. He has his phone in his hand, and Bram knows he’s playing some game based on the bright colors of the screen.

Simon shifts again and Bram looks up without moving his head, watching as Simon rubs at his back. Bram grabs one of the extra pillows by his side and tosses it at Simon’s head, knocking his glasses off his nose.

“Hey!” Simon yells, pulling the pillow down into his lap and glaring in Bram’s direction. His hair flattens on his head, static electricity keeping it held against Simon’s face. His glasses are on his chest and he tuts as he grabs them and inspects them.

“You could’ve broken my glasses,” Simon whines, inspecting them close to his face before slipping them back up his nose. He blinks at Bram, attempting to look serious, but they both giggle after a moment.

“You looked like you could use a pillow,” Bram says, and Simon shakes his head.

“There’s nicer ways to give a friend a pillow,” he says as he slips the pillow behind his back, his face relaxed as he settles back in. Simon always looks so relaxed, like he can make friends with anyone he meets or fall asleep anywhere, and Bram hates him just a little for that.

“There are,” Bram agrees, going back to his book as Simon huffs.

Now, when they sit in silence, Bram knows it’s comfortable. He still feels anxious, as he always does, but he knows that Simon isn’t expecting him to say or do anything to fill the time. They’ve been friends now for just about two months, and Bram’s never fully comfortable around anyone but he’s thinks he could be around Simon.

Simon’s been done with his homework for a while now. When he’d packed up all of his notebooks and textbooks, Bram had thought he was about to leave. But then Simon had gotten comfortable on the floor with his phone and they’d fallen into a companionable silence as Bram worked on his English homework. Bram had spent twenty minutes silently freaking out, until his brain had rationalized that they were friends. They didn’t have to immediately leave when one of them finished studying, because while that’s how their friendship had started, it was more than that now. That feeling in his shoulders  returned when Bram’s brain finally calmed.

Bram’s jaw tightens and then stretches as he yawns, his eyes watering slightly. He ignores the look Simon shoots him as he continues to read, only four pages left.

“Bram, if you’re tired, just stop. You can read the last couple pages in the morning,” Simon says softly, reaching out to touch Bram’s leg. Warmth erupts from where Simon’s fingers press through the fabric of Bram’s sweats.

“It’s only a few more pages,” Bram rationalizes, and Simon squeezes his leg again before dropping his hand, smiling as he sighs. It’s a weird thought, that Simon might be endeared by him, so Bram looks down at his book.

He ignores how heavy his eyes are getting and the fact that the lines are beginning to blur on the page. He focuses on the cool breeze from the fan in the corner, pushing air against his warm face. It makes his eyes dry, forces him to blink and refocus his vision. His lids might be heavy and hard to open, but he’s doing it.

But then he blinks, and he’s suddenly aware that there’s pressure on his legs. His book isn’t in his lap anymore, and his legs are moving out straight on the mattress. He attempts to open his eyes, and that’s when he hears a soft chuckle.

“Bram, you’re falling asleep.” Simon’s voice pushes through the haze of his brain, and he equates the fact that he’s sliding down the bed and the pressure on his legs to Simon gently positioning him horizontal on the bed.

“’M not,” Bram slurs, and Simon chuckles again. Bram pushes his eyes open to see Simon standing above him, pulling the blanket up to Bram’s chin.

“You are. You started snoring.” Simon tucks the blanket around Bram’s shoulders, adjusting the pillow so it’s under Bram’s head. Bram thinks he could cry, attributes it to being half asleep and not the ache that’s spreading down his back. “I put your bookmark in your book, plugged your phone in and turned it on do not disturb, and plugged your laptop in on your desk.”

“Simon,” Bram says softly, not knowing what he wants to say next but knowing he needs to say something. And he thinks Simon gets it, because he reaches up and touches Bram’s temple.

“Do you need anything else before I swim on home?” Simon jokes, and Bram giggles a beat late. He looks up at Simon, his eyes giving him what he knows is a distorted image, but Simon’s never looked lovelier than in that moment. Bram lets out a long sigh.

“A hug,” he says at the end, the first thought that runs through his brain. He immediately wants to take it back, his eyes opening wider as he realizes what he’s said. His anxieties take over and he’s suddenly sure that Simon’s about to laugh in his face and leave and that’ll be the end of their friendship.

But Simon doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t leave. He smiles at Bram, a soft smile that has Bram’s insides fluttering. Bram bites his bottom lip as Simon sits down on the bed and scoots over so he’s right next to Bram, sitting up a bit higher on the pillows. Bram lets out a sigh as Simon’s arm slides under his neck, his hand coming to rest on the space between Bram’s shoulder blades. His other arm wraps around Bram’s torso, and Bram lets his body turn until he’s cradled against Simon’s chest.

It’s a moment before his brain catches up to what’s happening, and Bram slides his arm around Simon’s waist when it does, pulling Simon even closer. Simon hums with his mouth shut, his cheek resting against the top of Bram’s head.

It’s wonderful. Every part of Bram’s back that’s ached or tingled at the very idea of this moment is warm, spreading through his body intoxicatingly. He melts into the embrace, any embarrassing emotions forgotten at the fact that he’s being hugged; he’s being hugged by Simon and it feels wonderful. Simon, who’s never made Bram feel uncomfortable or unwanted or detestable. Simon, who always greets Bram with a smile and some form of physical contact.

“Thank you,” Bram whispers, and he doesn’t know if Simon hears it, because his mind shuts down and he falls asleep.

\---

Bram wakes up the next morning, slowly, his body and eyes heavy from sleep. It’s still sprinkling outside, splatters beating against his window as his body begins to twitch. He can’t remember the last time he slept that well, that long. He knows it’s been since he started college, at least. As he pushes his arms up out of the blankets to stretch, he spots his water bottle on his nightstand. When he reaches over to grab it, his eyebrows come together at the knowledge that it’s full.

He doesn’t remember filling it.

“Oh,” he croaks as his memories return, reminding him of how he fell asleep. He sinks back down into the blankets, hiding his face with his duvet and groaning. His brain betrays him and he fights off a smile as he remembers what it felt like, arms wrapped around him tight. Arms that belong to Simon.

_Simon._

Bram loses the fight against his growing smile and he lets his lips turn up, his eyes closing. He stretches his legs down the bed, pointing his toes as his ankles and knees pop. Sitting up against his pillows, he opens his water bottle and takes a drink. As he drinks, he looks around the room and that’s when he spots the post-it note, stuck to his nightstand near his phone. Capping the water bottle and leaning it against his chest, Bram reaches over and picks up the note.

_Hopefully you sleep until it stops raining, you truly deserve it. Text me if you want to get lunch. – Simon_

And under that, written a little smaller, slightly messier, is a postscript.

_P.S. you’re welcome :)_

\---

Bram doesn’t text Simon about lunch, because Nick and Garrett have blown up his phone in his sleep about kicking a ball around the nearby park. So Bram gets up slowly, noting that it’s finally stopped raining. He dresses in comfortable clothes and is out the door with a quick text to Garrett, telling him to hold his horses.

_Garrett: what horses Abraham? where are these horses you speak of?_

He decidedly doesn’t text Simon, unsure of what to even say. He feels bad about it for all of seven seconds, and then he’s walking up to the park and Nick’s kicking the ball over to him.

“Took you long enough.” Garrett high fives him as he joins them, his hair a bit messy. Bram shrugs, dropping his backpack onto the ground and shaking out his legs. Nick’s looking at him critically, and Bram bristles under his gaze.

“Yes?” he asks, and Nick just shakes his head.

“You look like you got a good night’s rest,” Nick says kindly, like he cares about these things, and Garrett hums next to him.

“Yeah, did you just wake up? Aren’t you usually up at like, 5 a.m. doing crunches on your floor?” Garrett teases gently, and Bram rolls his eyes.

“I fell asleep reading a book for English,” Bram says, going for a half truth. They both nod like they get it.

“English books are better than sleeping pills,” Garrett mumbles, and Bram kicks him.

Garrett takes the ball from Bram’s arm and heads off down the open grass, dribbling the ball easily. Nick moves so he’s next to Bram, both of them crossing their arms as Garrett runs off by himself, in his own world.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Bram says after a moment, his curiosity beating out his anxiety. Nick looks over at him easily, a smile already on his face. Bram likes that about Nick, the easy way he smiles and makes others feel at ease. It’s the same way Simon smiles, and Bram thinks that must be a best friend thing.

“What’s up?” Nick asks, chuckling as Garrett slips in the wet grass. Bram shifts on his feet, unlocking his knees.

“So, Simon,” Bram starts, because he’s unsure how to broach the subject, and Nick turns his body now so he’s a little closer to Bram. His eyebrows come together for a moment.

“Simon,” Nick repeats, and Bram nods.

“Is he – like, is he always so… huggy?” Bram says, cringing at how the sentence sounds. Nick doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s smiling as he nods.

“Simon’s the most huggable and affectionate person I’ve ever met. I don’t notice it as much anymore, because we’ve been friends for so long, but sometimes someone will point it out and I’ll be like, oh yeah,” Nick says easily, uncrossing his arms to clasp his hands behind his back and push his shoulders back. “I didn’t understand why until I met his family. His parents hugged me on arrival. His dad gives the best hugs, as weird as that sounds.”

Bram nods, looking out across the grass to where Garrett is looking at them impatiently. Bram attempts to subtly hold up one finger, keeping it out of Nick’s line of sight, and he sees that Garrett gets it because he returns to bouncing the ball on his toes.

“That makes sense,” Bram says quietly, and Nick nods.

“Why do you ask?” he says, something in his tone telling Bram that Nick’s preparing to be a defensive best friend. But Bram shakes his head, smiling.

“I was just curious. Most people aren’t so compassionate.”

Nick just smiles, reaching over to poke Bram’s side. It’s a practiced move of Nick’s, and Bram decidedly does not laugh.

“Most people aren’t Simon,” Nick replies. He turns his head when Garrett whistles, and then he’s running down the grass towards where Garrett’s kicked the ball.

“No, most people aren’t,” Bram says to himself, watching his friends for a moment before jogging off to join them.

\---

He doesn’t see Simon for four days.

They text, constantly, and Bram uses that as a way to assuage his guilt. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Simon, it’s just that he doesn’t know what his body and mind will do when he does. He’s in uncharted waters, floating along more disoriented than before.

He goes to the coffee shop after class on Wednesday, keeping his head down as he picks up a tea to take back to his dorm to work on his history project. He’d gotten good feedback on his outline on Tuesday, so with his free afternoon, he’s going to start working on the essay.

He takes his tea when his name is called and heads back out onto the sidewalk, pulling out his phone to check the time. He hears the door jingle behind him and he moves a bit away.

“Bram.”

He pushes at the flight or fight instinct that’s threatening to take hold of his brain and turns around, his mouth moving up in a smile unbidden.

“Hey, Simon,” he says, and Simon smiles at him. His hands are twisting together and when he notices Bram’s eyes on them, he shoves them in his pocket.

“How’re you?” Simon asks, moving so he’s standing right next to Bram under the awning of the shop. Bram’s senses overwhelm with Simon so close to him and he takes a deep breath.

“I’m alright, a bit tired after the busy weekend,” he says, thinking about the multiple workouts Garrett had dragged him to. He knows Simon knows this, as they’d texted all weekend, and Simon nods.

“Going on runs at five in the morning will do that to a guy,” Simon jokes, and Bram feels his stomach unclench at the familiar tone. He brings his straw to his mouth and takes a sip, giving himself a moment to think.

“We train to win, Simon,” he says after a beat, and Simon chuckles. His hand slips out of his jacket pocket, fingers brushing Bram’s as his hand settles against his side, and Bram’s entire body warms.

“At this rate, you’ll be undefeated.”

“One can hope.”

They’re quiet for a moment, staring at each other with smiles on their faces. Simon’s cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, and Bram wants to reach out and touch them, see if they’re as warm as he thinks they are.

“I’m – uh,” Bram starts before Simon can speak. “I’m headed back to my dorm to work on my project, if you’re free.”

Simon nods, almost eagerly, and Bram smiles at that. He inclines his head in the direction of his dorm and Simon shifts his backpack on his shoulders as they start to walk. Simon stays close to Bram’s side, their hands brushing between them as they go, and Bram’s having a hard time concentrating.

“Marcus gave me good feedback on my outline,” Bram says as they turn down his street, and Simon perks up.

“Oh yeah? Can I read it now? You never let me,” Simon asks, and Bram swallows. There’s a good reason he hadn’t, and he’s trying to think of it as he looks at Simon’s bright eyes.

“I suppose,” he teases, and Simon rolls his eyes.

“Bram, I let you read mine,” Simon reminds him, and he nods.

“I guess it’s only fair then, huh?”

Bram leads the way into his building, even though Simon easily knows the way at this point. When they reach Bram’s door, Simon reaches over and takes Bram’s tea so he can dig his keys out of his pocket.

“Thanks,” Bram mumbles as he unlocks the door, and Simon just smiles.

Simon puts the tea down on Bram’s nightstand when they get inside, and they settle in easily. Bram feels his chest tug at the ease with which Simon fits into his dorm, making himself comfortable at the end of Bram’s bed. He pulls his laptop out of his bag and places it on the bed, kicking off his shoes before he crosses his legs. Bram sits up against the pillows, handing Simon a pillow to lean against.

“Oh, thanks,” Simon says, sticking the pillow behind his back. “So, your outline.”

Bram rolls his eyes, weighing his options for only a moment before he grabs a pillow and moves down the bed to sit right next to Simon. He ignores the way Simon leans against him, because if he thinks about it, he’s sure to _overthink_ it.

He pulls up his outline on his laptop and takes a breath. Simon reads this as something else, because he reaches over to touch Bram’s hand.

“Hey, if you don’t want me to read it –”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Bram cuts him off, smiling at him easily to show he’s fine. Simon doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just… well, like your topic, I use a lot of personal examples and information.”

Simon nods slowly.

“You’re okay with me reading this?” Simon asks as if he needs the reassurance, and Bram takes the laptop and places it in Simon’s lap.

“Have at it,” he says with a smile, and Simon looks at him a moment longer before turning to the laptop.

Bram lasts all of seven seconds before he’s chewing on his bottom lip, giving in to the nervous habit. He knows that, down there towards the middle of his outline, it says his biggest secret, the reason he hadn’t let Simon read it to begin with. He’s only told his parents and his favorite cousin, doesn’t know how he’ll ever find the words to tell Garrett or Nick. And he knows there’s better ways to tell Simon, because he feels like if there’s anyone he could come out to and feel okay about it, it would be Simon.

Simon shifts next to him, bringing his arm out from between them and placing it around Bram’s shoulders as he reads. Bram melts into it like he always does, leaning into Simon’s side. Simon doesn’t make a big deal about it, just squeezes Bram’s shoulder as he scrolls down the page. From this angle, Bram can see where the cursor is as Simon reads, and he knows when Simon reads the words _“being in the closet in the south”_ based on the way Simon’s breath hitches slightly.

Bram’s still tucked up under Simon’s arm when he finishes reading, closing the laptop and reaching over to place it on the bed by Bram’s legs.

“I really like it. I can’t wait to read the actual essay,” Simon says, looking down at Bram. Bram smiles at him, feeling a bit of the weight in his stomach dissipate. His back is warm, and it’s spreading down to his fingers, slow like honey.

“I’ll try to meet your high expectations,” Bram jokes, and Simon rolls his eyes. He clears his throat, his face melting into something a little more nervous.

“Thank you, for uh, I mean… for letting me – trusting me to read that,” Simon stumbles to say, and Bram just nods. They stare at each other again, the tension building slightly. Bram looks down at their laps when it becomes too much.

“I could fall asleep right here,” Bram says after a moment, becoming aware of how heavy his body is. Simon hums softly, squeezing Bram’s shoulders.

“Hey, if you ever need cuddles to sleep, I’m your guy,” Simon says, laughing a little after he says it, and Bram just smiles down at his jeans as he laughs a little too.

“I’ll remember that.”

\---

_Simon: can you do me a quick favor?_

_Bram: depends really_

_Simon: can you kick nicholas for me, pls_

Bram looks across the aisle of the bus where Nick is sitting, shrugging to himself. He scoots to the edge of the seat and reaches out to kick Nick’s foot.

“Excuse me!” Nick jumps, glaring at Bram.

“Simon asked me to kick you,” Bram says, and Nick rolls his eyes.

“Tell him he’s being a baby,” Nick replies as he looks back down at his phone.

_Bram: nick says you’re being a baby? i’m confused_

_Simon: he’s being a bad best friend_

_Simon: i’ve been telling him you might usurp him as my best friend_

_Bram: oh wow, what a great honor_

_Simon: if that’s sarcasm….._

_Bram: you’ll never know ;)_

Nick throws a package of gummy snacks at Bram’s head, and he looks up to frown at him.

“What do you want?” Bram asks, ignoring the exasperated sigh Garrett lets out at them talking on their early morning bus ride to their first soccer game.

“Be good to my best friend,” Nick says cryptically, looking away as soon as he says it. Bram’s eyebrows come together, and he wants to ask what Nick even means. Garrett reaches up and holds up his middle finger for Bram to see, and he closes his mouth instead.

\---

It’s Monday, which means Bram hasn’t seen Simon since Wednesday night and he’s beginning to feel that familiar clench in his stomach and the ache between his shoulder blades. They’d won their first game but that didn’t mean their coach was happy about anything. They’d spent all day Saturday doing drills and practicing until even Bram had to admit it was too much. He spent all day Sunday in bed, ice on his aching muscles. He watched an entire season of a show on Netflix and caught up on his reading. The week looked promising.

He wakes up late on Monday, not enough time to grab some tea on his way to class. He puts his backpack in some gum when he stops to make sure he has his one notebook. He gets a quiz back in his math lecture and he’s surprised at the percentage on the top of the page. His group project partners change where they want to meet multiple times until Bram almost decides to skip going.

By the time he gets back to his dorm after eating dinner, he’s exhausted. He feels off, like something is unsettled in his chest. He brushes his teeth, tidies up his room, folds all his laundry, and organizes the papers on his desk before he pulls out his phone in defeat.

He doesn’t even know how to start the text. He hasn’t replied to the text Simon sent him over an hour ago. Bram searches through his emojis and finally picks one of the frowning faces, hoping it’ll convey enough.

He sits down at his desk and opens his laptop. He has a few emails to respond to, and a Facebook feed he hasn’t scrolled down in a number of days. His cousin’s posted new baby photos, and he’s wrapped up in that album when someone knocks at his door.

He looks at the time and frowns. It’s nearly 10 p.m., he hasn’t made any noise since he finished cleaning and it’s not yet quiet time. He checks his phone and sees that Simon still hasn’t replied, so he stands up and answers the door.

The air leaves his lungs in a hurry.

“Hey,” Simon says softly, stepping forward into Bram’s space and into the room. Bram steps back to let him inside, closing the door quietly.

“What…” Bram trails off, because while he’s surprised to see Simon standing in front of him, it’s also exactly what he had hoped would happen. He decides to examine Simon’s psychic abilities later.

“Tell me about your game.” Simon pulls a glasses case out of his backpack and sets it on the nightstand. Bram walks over and sits on the bed, watching as Simon takes off his big sweatshirt to reveal a thin white t-shirt underneath.

“My game?”

“Yeah, the game you guys won. Tell me about it,” Simon says with a soft smile, and Bram twists his hands together in his lap.

“Well, we won,” Bram starts, and Simon nods. He jerks his head at Bram, and it takes a moment for Bram to scoot up on the bed and lay on his back near the wall. Simon lays down next to him, their shoulders pressed together, and the contact grounds Bram.

“I know that, silly. You told me as much. But like, how’d you guys do? Anyone get like, a penalty? Or, soccer is colored cards, right?”

Bram feels his stomach swell with butterflies at Simon’s words, someone who’s openly admitted to “knowing jack shit” about sports.

“Yellow and red cards,” Bram provides, and Simon snaps his fingers. His hand comes down, it lands right on top of Bram’s, and he doesn’t move it.

“Right. Nick’s told me he’s gotten a red card before, but I don’t know what that means,” Simon confesses, and Bram turns his head to look at him. Simon’s eyes are closed, his face screwed up a little, and he’s playing with the collar of his shirt with his free hand.

“Nick got it for getting into a fight with someone during summer league,” Bram explains, and Simon nods. He still doesn’t open his eyes.

“And that’s bad.”

“In every sport, really,” Bram teases, and Simon opens his eyes to glare at Bram.

“In life, really,” Simon retorts, and Bram snorts.

“Smartass,” he says as he looks back up at the ceiling, Simon’s hand twitching on top of his.

“At least I have an ass,” Simon mumbles after a moment, and Bram whips a pillow down to smack Simon in the stomach as he laughs.

“Rude, you can leave now.”

Simon keeps laughing, sticking the pillow behind his head, which leaves Bram without one. He sighs heavily, ignoring Simon’s growing smirk.

“Did today get any better?” Simon asks after they sit in silence for a bit, handing Bram back his pillow. Bram sticks the pillow under his head and turns over on his side so he can look at Simon. Simon turns over as well, and their knees knock as they settle again.

“No,” Bram answers honestly, and Simon frowns at him. His face doesn’t look as pitying as Bram had thought it would, just genuine concern, and it gnaws at Bram’s insides.

“I’m sorry,” Simon intones, and the sincerity of his voice makes Bram swallow thickly. It’s been a long day and Simon’s knees are pressed against his. He clears his throat.

“It’s a little better now,” he mumbles, looking steadily at Simon despite the embarrassed heat on his cheeks. Simon’s face flushes slightly, and he smiles at Bram.

“Good. I’m glad. Tell me about your day.”

Bram talks, turning over to lay on his back as he starts at the beginning and works his way through the hours. Simon scoots closer, grabbing Bram’s hand that’s closest to him and holding it in his hands, massaging his palm. It trips Bram up for a moment, the gentle pressure. He doesn’t look at Simon as he continues, his wrist going lax at Simon’s ministrations.

He’s up to missing lunch when Simon drops his hand and reaches over for the other. It’s such a simple act, but it’s calming and Bram’s beginning to relax into the bed. The feeling between his shoulders is still there, but talking about his day is lessening the knot in his stomach.

“Did you eat dinner?” Simon asks, and Bram nods.

“I ate dinner and a little dessert,” he replies, and Simon drops his hand gently.

“Good. The perfect treat after dealing with your group project partners,” Simon says around a yawn, and Bram looks over at him. His eyes are starting to look a little heavy, and Bram knows his probably look the same.

“What time do you have class tomorrow?” Bram asks softly, his eyes flicking to the clock he keeps on the wall. It’s been almost an hour of them laying in bed talking. It feels like less.

“Eleven, in the humanities building,” Simon answers, and Bram nods. He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his shorts and sets an alarm.

“I have class at eleven too,” Bram mumbles, Simon nodding as he yawns again. It’s contagious, and Bram finds himself yawning after a moment. Simon giggles sleepily as Bram rolls his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Yes, Simon?”

Bram looks over to see Simon chewing on his bottom lip, eyes a little glassy. Bram hadn’t seen him take off his glasses, and he’s struck again by how beautiful Simon’s eyes are up close.

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

Bram laughs softly at the unexpected question, Simon laughing with him.

“What?” Simon asks after a moment of soft laughter, and Bram shakes his head.

“I wasn’t expecting that question,” Bram says, and Simon makes a face.

“Bram, no offense, but that’s a pretty standard question when it comes to cuddling,” Simon teases, his face flushing pink again. Bram knows his cheeks are warmer than usual.

“Okay, then. Uh… I don’t know? Either?”

Simon nods at that.

“You can be little spoon then,” Simon says simply, getting up and walking over to turn off the overhead light. Bram’s thankful for the sudden darkness. He hears Simon rustle in his backpack, and he sits up to take off his sweatshirt. It feels a little awkward, both of them getting ready to sleep in the dark. But then Simon’s pulling back the covers, Bram moving out of the way, and laying back down on the bed.

Bram turns over so he’s facing the wall, his knees coming up towards his chest. He tries to keep his shoulders relaxed as Simon scoots up behind him, wrapping an arm around Bram’s middle and pulling him in tight.

Simon’s an inch or two shorter than Bram, so his nose rests against the back of Bram’s neck as he settles. His chest is warm against Bram’s back, his whole body is really, and Bram feels himself relax at how good it feels. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, relaxing further, and Simon hums.

“Si?” Bram says into the darkness, his voice thick with the sleep that’s pulling at his mind.

“Hmm?” Simon hums in his ear, and Bram fights off the whole body shudder he feels building at that.

“Thanks,” Bram whispers. Simon’s arm tightens around his middle, his nose nuzzling the back of Bram’s neck.

“I told you I was your guy if you needed a cuddle, didn’t I?” Simon whispers against the back of Bram’s ear, and Bram nods carefully.

“I know, just, I know it’s… weird,” Bram starts, but Simon cuts him off with a noise.

“’S’not weird, not really,” Simon whispers.

“It’s not weird cuddling your male friend?”

“First off, that’s toxic masculinity talking if you think guys can’t cuddle their friends,” Simon mumbles, and Bram giggles quietly. “Secondly, I prefer cuddling with guys, so.”

Bram bites his bottom lip, fighting against the all-out assault the butterflies are waging on his insides. Simon shifts slightly, one of his feet slipping between Bram’s ankles. Bram squeezes his feet together gently.

“Good. Me too.”

Simon rests his cheek against Bram’s shoulder, and Bram falls asleep to the steady sound of Simon’s breath, the butterflies in his stomach settling.

\---

They’re finishing up lunch when Nick sets his chin on his hands and stares at Bram. Garrett’s still talking about a girl in his English lecture, and it has most of Bram’s attention when he realizes Nick’s looking at him.

“What?” Bram asks, laughing nervously. Garrett stops talking to look at Nick too, a curious expression on his face.

“I just… don’t take this the wrong way but like, you seem happier than normal today,” Nick says hesitantly, holding up his hands. “Like, more relaxed.”

Garrett hums in agreement and Bram looks over at him, mouth open a bit.

“Huh?” he asks, and Garrett looks at Nick.

“I don’t know man, you just seem less tense. Anxious. One of those words,” Garrett’s voice is low, keeping the conversation to their table. Bram appreciates that more than he can verbalize.

“Oh,” Bram says softly, and Nick looks like he’s panicking.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, I just… it’s nice to see you relaxing,” Nick hurries to say, reaching across the table to poke Bram’s arm. Bram smiles at him, hoping it conveys the fact that he’s not upset in the slightest.

“Especially after the weekend we had,” Garrett mumbles, and Bram snorts a laugh.

“For sure,” Bram agrees, smiling at his friends. “Thanks, I guess?”

“No need to thank us, we’re just happy to see you happy.” Nick shrugs, attempting to downplay the fact that he’s saying something incredibly thoughtful and considerate.

“That’s deep, man,” Garrett whispers, and they all start laughing. Bram shakes his head at them, the fluttering in his stomach reaching his chest.

“But really, man, did you just get a good night’s sleep or something? Last I saw you yesterday, you looked like you were about to cry.” Garrett turns to Bram, and Bram’s brain goes into overdrive. He falters as he remembers waking up with warm arms wrapped around his waist, a head of messy blonde hair on his shoulder, drool soaking a small spot on the front of his shirt from where Simon had ended up during the night. He remembers Simon’s shy apology for the drool, the hug Simon had given him before he’d left to head back to his own dorm.

“Yeah, a great night’s sleep.”

\---

Two weeks pass, and nothing about their friendship changes.

They meet up in the library to work on Simon’s psychology theory test, Bram making a bunch of flashcards because his handwriting is legible and he has the patience. Bram promises Simon he’ll buy him iced coffee for a week if Simon gets most of them right, and even though he doesn’t, Bram still buys him the coffee.

The soccer team has their first home game, and that’s when Bram meets Abby and Leah. Nick jumps for joy when he sees them in the stands, and hurriedly explains to Bram who they are and how they all know each other. They wave at Bram like they know who he is, Simon’s cheeks a little pink as Abby elbows him in the side, and Bram has to actively ignore that to play a decent game. They win anyway, and Garrett’s the one who suggests they go to Waffle House, which is how Bram ends up in the backseat of Leah’s car, Simon half on his lap because there’s more people than seats.

Simon sends Bram memes he finds when Bram starts stressing about schoolwork, and they make Bram laugh until he feels the anxiety in his stomach fade. Bram gets Simon to focus on studying when Simon’s feeling rather antsy. Bram’s come to recognize that Simon convinces himself he won’t do well on something, so he doesn’t study for it. Bram pushes him to study anyway, and each time, Simon brings Bram a package of Reese’s in thanks.

Simon comes to the park one afternoon and sits on a bench while Nick, Garrett, and Bram kick the ball around. Garrett finally convinces Simon to join them, even though Nick’s laughing hysterically and Bram’s shaking his head. Simon only kicks the ball once, because it hits Nick in the stomach and he’s so embarrassed he sits back down. Bram promises him later that he’ll teach him how to kick a perfect shot, and Simon beams.

Simon doesn’t come over to Bram’s dorm the entire two weeks, both of them agreeing to meet in the library or coffee shop instead. Bram’s not really sure why, but by the last week of October, Bram’s starting to miss their quiet alone time. He’s sitting at his desk, staring at his half-written history paper, when his phone goes off.

_Simon: i hate this project_

_Simon: like, i feel like my outline was so good, but my paper’s shit_

Bram picks up his phone and reads the texts slowly, making up his mind after a moment.

_Bram: same… come over and we can help each other figure them out_

Bram has to wait all of seven seconds for Simon to respond.

_Simon: solid plan, best plan, be right over_

\---

Simon brings two packages of Halloween Oreos and a bag of Reese’s minis. Bram’s never been happier to see anyone in his life.

They settle side by side at the top of Bram’s bed, their sides pressed together. Simon crosses his legs and opens one of the Oreo packages, shoving one in his mouth while offering one to Bram.

“Cute,” Bram teases, and Simon flushes. Bram takes a couple of cookies and places them on his nightstand for later.

They read in silence. Simon stretches his arm out across the pillows behind them, his fingers tapping a rhythm against the wall. As Bram comes to the end of what Simon has typed, he leans back against his pillow, trapping Simon’s arm between his shoulders and the wall. Simon stills his fingers and turns his hand so it’s loosely cupped around Bram’s bicep. He taps a rhythm against Bram’s shirt.

“I like what you have so far,” Simon says when he finishes, shifting so he sits up straighter. He brings his arm down from around Bram’s shoulders and stretches out his hand. Grabbing another Oreo, Simon pushes Bram’s laptop down into the space in front of their legs, closing it slightly.

“I feel like it starts to ramble,” Bram says, and Simon shrugs.

“I think if you tie the rambling bits back into the main topic, you can smooth the entire piece out. It’s… it’s really good Bram,” Simon says softly, smiling at Bram. Ducking his head down, Bram grabs an Oreo to distract himself.

“Speaking of,” Bram starts, swallowing what’s in his mouth. “I know you think your paper is shit, but it’s not. I think you only feel that way because you’ve been reading it over and over for days now and you’re just seeing the same like, four typos. Which I fixed, by the way.”

Simon opens his mouth like he wants to say something, his eyes a little wider than normal behind his glasses as he stares at Bram. His mouth closes after a moment and he smiles, his cheeks pushing his glasses up his face.

“You’re the best, do you know that?” he asks after a moment, and Bram feels his cheeks warm. He makes a disbelieving noise and Simon shakes his head.

“I’m so ready to be done with this project,” Simon mumbles as he closes Bram’s laptop. Bram stands and takes both of their laptops to his desk, laying them side by side. He takes a moment to stare at one of the newer pictures tacked above his desk, a meme Simon had printed out for him, before turning around.

“What will we talk about when it’s over?” Bram jokes as he sits back down, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hadn’t realized until this very moment that this friendship could have an expiration date, like so many other friendships in college do. But then Simon reaches over and pulls Bram’s arms from around his knees, squeezing his hands.

“We’ll talk about,” Simon starts, his thumbs pressing circles into Bram’s palms, “how even though you think Reese’s are better than Oreos, you ate most of the package.”

Bram laughs, a nervous bark that turns into something happier, shoving Simon slightly until Simon giggles and moves to sit back next to Bram. When he finally stops laughing, Bram yawns. According to the clock on the wall, it’s almost 11:30, and Bram’s been up since early morning.

“I can’t wait to sleep in tomorrow,” Bram mumbles, his head lolling back against the wall. He closes his eyes and thinks about the terrible sleep he’s been getting all week.

“Haven’t been sleeping well?” Simon asks, and Bram hums. He reaches up and scratches at a spot on his neck, keeping his eyes shut.

“Too much going on,” he mumbles, and Simon shifts next to him.

“I can read you a bedtime story,” Simon jokes, and Bram sputters as he tilts his head down, eyes flying open to glare at Simon. Simon chuckles, reaching over to pat Bram’s leg.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Simon says, sounding a little disappointed, and as he crawls to the end of the bed and stands, Bram tries to find his words. He doesn’t know how to ask, outright, and he’s never felt quite this dumbstruck. He looks down and notices Simon’s backpack for the first time, looking a little full.

“Or,” Bram manages to say, Simon turning to look at him expectantly. “You could stay. I’ll let you be little spoon.”

Simon laughs, turning on his heel so he’s facing Bram. For a moment, Bram thinks he’s going to laugh and leave. But Simon’s smiling down at him.

“Let me? _Let me_ be little spoon?” Simon asks incredulously, and Bram nods. Simon brings his hand to his chin and taps his fingers against his lips, pretending to think, before he shrugs.

“I guess that’s acceptable.”

Bram doesn’t say anything about the fact that Simon has another shirt and shorts in his backpack as they quietly get ready to sleep. They brush their teeth separately, and when Simon comes back from the bathroom, he shuts off the overhead light. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the nightstand, arranging them away from their phones.

“Is your alarm off?” Simon asks, and Bram nods from where he’s lying flat on his back on the bed. Simon hums as he shuts off the lamp and lays down, turning on his side so he’s facing away from Bram.

It takes Bram a few moments of breathing to turn over and wrap his arm around Simon’s waist. He tucks his other arm up under Simon’s pillow, and his stomach flutters wildly as Simon rests a hand on top of Bram’s fingers sticking out from under the pillow. Bram buries his nose in Simon’s hair and moves until Simon’s warm back is pressed against Bram’s chest. Bram’s brain is overwhelmed by everything about Simon; the smell of his hair, the feel of his fingertips on Bram’s hand, the way he shuffles his feet so they’re tangled with Bram’s. The fluttering in Bram’s chest eases even though the cacophony in his head never stops.

And then Simon’s leaning back, collapsing his shoulders so Bram’s practically draped around him, and everything goes quiet for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Simon asks after a beat, Bram’s nose rubbing against the back of Simon’s head as he nods.

“Now,” he replies quietly, and Simon’s fingers press into Bram’s hand.

“What was wrong?”

Bram moves so his face is hidden between Simon’s hair and the pillow, taking a few deep breaths. When he pulls his face out, he hooks his chin over Simon’s shoulder to speak softly into his ear. He knows he doesn’t imagine the way Simon’s breathing hitches.

“Remember the night we met, at that party?” Bram asks, and Simon hums, his head moving in a slight nod. “The hug you gave me that night… that was the first hug I’d gotten since coming to college.”

Simon turns his face into the pillow, pushing back slightly so they’re even closer, and Bram continues.

“I don’t know if you remember what I said in the grass,” he says, and Simon nods.

“Yeah, I do,” he whispers, his fingers dancing over where Bram’s are curled up against his ribs. Bram nods, his nose brushing against Simon’s ear, and it’s taking everything Bram has not to burst into anxious tears. He pushes past the feeling behind his eyes and is about to speak when Simon beats him to it.

“I feel the same, uh, by the way,” Simon whispers, turning his head out of the pillow. “My whole family is so affectionate, and you met Abby. It’s great to have Nick around because he’s less likely to punch me for needing a hug but still… college is hard.”

Bram buries his nose in the curls at Simon’s ear and they breathe together, the moment washing over them. Simon sighs softly, and when Bram looks, his eyes are close and there’s a pleased tilt to his mouth.

“I guess these cuddling sessions are working out then,” Bram mumbles, and Simon snorts.

“Mutually beneficial,” Simon whispers, and before Bram can think of anything else to say, Simon’s breathing evens out and he’s asleep.

Bram allows himself a few moments of feeling Simon’s heartbeat through his ribs before he falls asleep too.

\---

It becomes a thing after that.

On Halloween, they end up at the same party, dragged along by Nick and Garrett, and they slip away to lay in the hammock in the backyard, a bag of chips open on their laps as they drunkenly giggle and talk about the Halloweens from when they were kids. Bram keeps his arm behind Simon’s head, his hand absentmindedly playing with Simon’s hair, and Simon hooks their ankles together. It goes great until Simon realizes Bram’s ticklish and tries to tickle him, tilting the hammock enough that they fall over and onto the ground.

Thursday ends up being their unofficial night of cuddling, when Simon shows up at Bram’s door with his backpack and books, determined to study for a while before they both get too tired to keep their eyes open and they easily collapse into Bram’s bed. Bram discovers that Simon prefers to be little spoon and he spends most Thursday nights reading over Simon’s shoulder as he scrolls through new memes he finds hilarious. They laugh off the awkwardness of morning wood with a mutual understanding that “it happens, don’t worry about it” and a couple dumb jokes. By the second Thursday, Simon has a set of pajamas tucked away in one of Bram’s drawers.

The Tuesday before they all head home for Thanksgiving, Bram meets up with Garrett and Nick to kick a ball around the park. The air’s chilly and Bram grabs the first sweatshirt he finds in his dresser as he runs out the door. It isn’t until he sees the knowing look on Nick’s face that he realizes it’s a sweatshirt Simon left. And of course, Nick would know that, because it has the name of Simon and Nick’s high school across his chest.

“Man, I can’t wait for a nice long weekend,” Garrett says, completely oblivious to the silent conversation Nick and Bram are having. Bram’s eyes are wide as saucers, and he nervously pulls the sleeves of the sweater over his hands. Nick smiles at him softly, miming zipping his lips and locking them. Garrett kicks the ball down the grass and runs after it, and that’s when Nick moves to stand next to Bram.

“You don’t have to explain. I figured one of you would tell me when you were ready.”

Bram swallows thickly.

“You uh… you know?” Bram says vaguely, and Nick looks at him kindly. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a friendly smile.

“I only know what you want to tell me, and like I said, you don’t have to say anything,” Nick says, right as Garrett runs back up to them.

“Say anything about what?” Garrett asks, looking between his two friends. He eyes the name on Bram’s sweatshirt, and the nervous way Bram’s hiding his hands.

“Nothing,” Nick starts, protective in a way Bram’s incredibly grateful for, but he’s made up his mind.

“It’s just,” Bram interrupts, and Nick stares at him. Bram takes a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

Nick’s beaming at him, a happy sort of proud look on his face as he reaches over and pats Bram on the shoulders. Garrett’s looking a little dumbfounded, like he really didn’t expect that as an answer to his question, and Bram doesn’t blame him. He finally shakes himself and then he’s smiling at Bram.

“How long have you known?” Garrett asks, and Bram lets out his breath.

“Since high school,” Bram says, and Garrett nods.

“Have you told anyone else?” he asks, fiddling with the soccer ball in his hands, and Bram understands what he’s asking.

“My parents, the summer after junior year. One of my favorite cousins at a family reunion. And, uh, Simon,” Bram says, and Garrett nods again. He reaches over and claps Bram on the shoulder before wrapping his arm around Bram in a tight hug.

“I’m proud of you. Thank you for feeling like you could tell us. If you, uh, need anyone with you when you feel ready to tell other people, I’ve got your back,” Garrett says against his ear, and Bram feels like crying.

“Thanks,” he croaks as Nick pats his back.

“Same here,” Nick says, and Bram wiggles out of Garrett’s embrace to hug Nick.

“Now I see why you and Simon became such good friends. It must be nice having someone to talk to about this, someone who understands,” Garrett says, and Bram nods slowly. He smiles at his hands for a moment before punching the ball out of Garrett’s arms and kicking it down the field.

“Hey, not cool, Greenfeld!” Garrett yells as Nick laughs hysterically.

\---

_Bram: hey, Happy Thanksgiving! not to be a sap, but i’m really thankful we met and became friends. you’ve really helped me a lot this semester._

_Simon: if we’re being saps, i’m thankful you stole my package of oreos at that party because i don’t think i’d be passing my psychology course without your help_

_Simon: you’ve also made college feel a lot less lonely_

_Simon: so, thank you_

_Bram: no, thank you_

_Simon: i said it first_

_Bram: yeah but i texted first_

_Simon: i take it back you’re the worst_

_Bram: no, i’m not_

_Simon: no, you’re not._

_\---_

The week after Thanksgiving is hectic. Professors are talking about finals and it starts raining on Wednesday, a bitter chill taking over campus that makes everyone cranky. Simon texts Bram on Wednesday afternoon to say he has to meet his group project partners on Thursday, which means they won’t get to hang out. Bram tries not to be too bitter about that, and spends the whole night tossing restlessly in bed.

He’s halfway through folding a load of laundry on Friday when his phone goes off where it’s plugged in on his nightstand. He smiles when he sees who it is.

_Simon: you free tonight?_

_Bram: as free as someone with two loads of laundry to fold can be_

_Simon: good, i’m coming over_

Bram smiles at that, wide and happy, and he hurries to put his clothes away. He keeps Simon’s sweatshirt out instead of folding it, frowning at the remnants of a grass stain from the park on Tuesday. Once everything’s put away and he has his hamper back in its spot at the end of his bed, he pulls the sweatshirt over his head and goes about making his bed.

Simon texts him when he’s on his way, saying he has a surprise, and Bram feels inexplicably giddy. He realizes belatedly that they haven’t really seen each other in over a week. They’d seen each other in passing, or met up in the library on Tuesday to look over each other’s final drafts, but they haven’t sat around and talked about nothing in particular since before Thanksgiving.

Bram blames his nerves on that.

When he opens the door, all of his nerves dissipate because Simon’s holding a takeout bag and a jug of Publix sweet tea, and Bram’s struck with such a fond feeling he almost names it.

“What’s this?” he asks as he lets Simon inside, taking the jug of sweet tea and placing it on the desk. It’s still cold and Bram smiles when Simon pulls two red cups out of his backpack.

“I haven’t eaten yet, and since you said you were doing laundry, I’m assuming you haven’t either,” Simon says, setting the takeout bag on the desk. He pulls out a few containers and Bram can’t help the wide smile on his face.

“So, you got Chinese? Isn’t the takeout place kinda out of the way?” Bram asks, and Simon just shrugs.

Bram opens up his laptop and sets it up on his desk chair while Simon lays a towel down on the bed and spreads the containers of food out. Simon has chopsticks but also pulls out some plastic forks, and when Bram shuts off the overhead light and turns around, Simon’s settled up against the pillows, chewing on a spring roll.

“They put _Shrek_ on Netflix,” Simon says as Bram sits down, looking at the containers until he finds the broccoli beef.

“Are you suggesting we watch _Shrek_ on this fine Friday evening?” Bram asks, looking over at Simon. He’s holding the container of lo mein, chopsticks shoved deep into the noodles.

“Are you offended that I suggested watching _Shrek?_ Because I’ll leave,” Simon jokes, and Bram shakes his head as he laughs.

They settle back as the movie starts, Simon scooting down the bed until his head is resting against Bram’s shoulder. Bram forgets the movie’s playing as he watches Simon dig noodles out of his carton, completely at ease. He’s wearing big fuzzy socks with the bottom of his joggers tucked into them, and a Georgia football sweatshirt. His hair smells like he’s freshly showered, and Bram sticks his nose to it for a second when he reaches over to grab some of the noodles.

“When I was young, I was scared of Shrek.”

Bram bites back a laugh, tilting his head back as Simon looks up at him to grin.

“How come?” Bram asks, handing over the carton of broccoli beef when Simon reaches for it. Simon hands him the fried rice and Bram smiles in thanks.

“He yelled! And was big, and tall, and just scary. I never watched past the part where he and Donkey meet.” Simon shifts, bringing his knees up towards his chest, carefully avoiding the food on the bed.

“You never even gave him a chance,” Bram teases, and Simon elbows his side. He doesn’t pick his head off Bram’s shoulder as he reaches for another spring roll. Bram’s stomach flutters happily.

“To be fair, I was young,” Simon mumbles, sticking his bottom lip out. Bram sees this and reaches over with his chopsticks to poke Simon’s lip. Simon giggles and elbows Bram again.

“Have you watched the entire movie since getting over your aversion?” Bram asks, and Simon shakes his head.

“I’ve gotten halfway through. I fell asleep. Leah about murdered me.”

Bram laughs quietly, resting his cheek against the top of Simon’s head for a moment. They’re quiet as the movie continues, both slowly eating the food laid out on the bed. Simon never moves his head off Bram’s shoulder, his focus alternating between handling his chopsticks and the movie. Bram can tell when they get to the parts Simon’s never seen, because he stops focusing on the food and focuses solely on the movie.

Around the time Fiona pulls the arrow out of Shrek’s butt, Bram decides to take the food off the bed. Simon’s paying close attention to the movie, so Bram gently pushes him off his shoulder and ignores the disappointed look Simon shoots him.

“I’m putting the food on the desk,” Bram whispers as he grabs the cartons and closes them, picking them up in the towel and depositing them onto the desk. Simon stretches out on the bed, his gaze never leaving the laptop even as he pulls the blankets down and over his legs.

Bram grabs the tea off the nightstand and pours himself a glass. The light drizzle that had kept everyone inside all day is now a full on downpour and Bram smiles at the sound of the rain on his window as he finishes the tea and joins Simon on the bed.

Bram’s entire body warms as he settles back against the pillows, and Simon immediately puts his head back on Bram’s shoulder. Simon turns on his side, and their feet tangle together under the covers. Pulling his arm out from between them, Bram wraps it around Simon’s shoulders, his fingers settling against the seam of Simon’s sweatshirt.

Bram tries to pay attention to the movie. Donkey’s freaking out about Fiona also being an ogre, and Shrek’s freaking out about liking Fiona, but Simon’s warm against his side. Warm, solid, and real and Bram’s heart flutters when Simon snuggles a little closer.

It’s around the moment Shrek bursts into the church, yelling “I object!” that Bram realizes something about the evening. Neither of them brought out their textbooks. They didn’t talk about schoolwork. Even the times they’ve gotten lunch together, they’ve talked about school. Or someone’s ended up joining them. It’s always felt easy, platonic, right on the surface.

“Simon?”

It takes a moment for Simon to look up at him, and he blinks a few times before he’s focusing on Bram. His mouth turns up, a soft half smile that makes Bram’s inside warm.

“Huh? It’s the good part,” Simon says, and Bram looks at the laptop. He reaches over with his foot to tap the spacebar, and the movie pauses on the dragon punching the church window. “Bram, what?”

“Uh,” Bram starts, holding out the vowel. Simon’s looking up at him expectantly, his eyebrows pulled together. Bram reaches up and rests his thumb on the creases of Simon’s forehead, gently smoothing them out until Simon’s mouth is turned up, his eyes soft. “Is this a date?”

Bram’s fingers end up in Simon’s hair as he looks down, hiding the bright blush on his cheeks. Every nerve in Bram’s body is humming, and he tightens his arm around Simon’s back as Simon brings his hands into his lap and twiddles his fingers.

“I mean…” Simon trails off, beginning to pick at his nail beds, and Bram gently pulls his hands apart. “If… it could be, if you wanted it to be.”

Bram sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, holding it between his teeth. A beat passes where neither of them say anything, and Bram turns one of Simon’s hands over to tangle their fingers together. It’s like they’re both holding their breath, and Bram knows one of them has to be the first to move, so Bram reaches over with his foot again and resumes the movie.

\---

When the movie finishes, Bram closes the laptop with his foot and they sink into the bed together, still holding hands. Simon’s beginning to feel heavy against Bram’s side, and he knows that means Simon’s going to fall asleep soon, but there’s still some things Bram needs to say before he bursts.

“You know,” Bram says once they’ve settled into the bed, Simon still curled up into Bram’s side. Bram’s head is resting on his pillow, his arm still around Simon’s shoulders, and the rain’s beating against the window with each gust of wind. “I’ve never been on a date.”

Simon hums, his legs shuffling beneath the covers.

“This wasn’t actually anything close to what I had in mind for our first date,” Simon whispers, and Bram looks down his nose at where he can see the top of Simon’s head. Simon tilts his head up, and he squints up at Bram in the darkness.

“No?” Bram asks, his voice cracking slightly. His heart is beating wildly now, and he’s sure Simon can feel it against his ear.

“No, I – uh, I kinda thought we could go to one of the art museums nearby. The Georgia Museum of Art has a couple of really pretty exhibits right now. And after, we could go and find a place to eat. I wouldn’t pick beforehand because like, what if you don’t want to go where I’ve picked, you know? But I had thought we could get stuff and go eat in the park, and maybe you could finally show me how to kick a soccer ball properly,” Simon mumbles into the space under Bram’s chin, ducking his head down halfway through as his cheeks warm.

Bram’s a little speechless, and he squeezes Simon’s hand to let him know that he isn’t quiet because of anything bad. It takes a few moments for Bram’s tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth.

“We don’t have to consider this a first date,” Bram whispers, and he feels Simon take in a deep breath.

“Okay,” Simon replies, the word hanging in the air.

“You know,” Bram says, resting his cheek on top of Simon’s head. “I don’t have a game tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” Simon replies, the smile on his face evident by the tone of his voice. Bram knows exactly what Simon’s face looks like before he tilts his head up and looks at Bram.

“That is so,” Bram replies, smiling down at Simon.

“Well, then,” Simon says, turning over onto his side towards the wall, pulling Bram with him by their tangled fingers. “I guess it’s a date.”

Bram smiles as they get comfortable, his stomach filled with a new kind of butterflies. Giddy, happy, expectant butterflies.

“I guess it’s a date,” Bram mumbles, and he blinks when Simon shushes him.

“Be quiet, please, I’m trying to sleep. I have a cute date tomorrow.”

\---

“Hey. Greenfeld.”

Bram looks up from his phone, making eye contact with Garrett across the table. They’re at breakfast after their team meeting, because even if there isn’t a game, their coach wants to yell about something. Nick’s phone is to his ear as he talks to his mother, angled away from them.

“What?” Bram asks, dipping his spoon into his cereal. He locks his phone, smiling to himself. When he looks up, Garrett’s giving him a happy look.

“I was asking you what you’re doing after this, but you were smiling down at your phone,” Garrett says, a teasing glint in his eyes. He’s been teasing Bram all morning for almost being late to the team meeting, especially after Bram stumbled over a half ass excuse that wasn’t even close to the truth.

“Oh, uh, I have plans,” Bram says, trying to keep himself from tripping over his words. Every time he thinks about the afternoon, his entire body starts vibrating excitedly.

“Plans?” Nick says, apparently done with his phone call. He looks at Bram like he knows who else has plans this afternoon, but he never says anything in front of Garrett. Bram’s glad Nick’s letting Bram choose when he wants to tell Garrett about whatever is or is not happening with Simon.

“Yep. Plans.” Bram scoops up some of the cereal and brings it to his mouth, smiling around the spoon. Garrett’s still looking at him with that happy look on his face, his eyes brighter than the overhead lights.

“You know,” Garrett starts, bringing his elbows up onto the table and resting his chin on his hands. “You’ve seemed a lot… happier lately. It’s nice to see.”

Bram feels his phone buzz on the table and he looks down at it automatically, his face lighting up at the text there.

_it’s a first date to a museum, abraham, of course i’ll be looking cute. gotta outshine the art pieces now, don’t i?_

“There something you aren’t telling us, Greenfeld?” Garrett says as Bram picks up his phone to respond, and Bram jumps.

“No,” Bram says, too fast, and Garrett chuckles.

“There is!” Garrett goads, nudging Nick. Nick’s still smiling at Bram like he knows, and Bram feels his face warm. “I told you about that girl who turned me down last week even though it was über embarrassing, so I feel like you owe me a little explanation at what’s got you so… smitten.”

“It’s…” Bram trails off, holding his phone to his chest. He feels it buzz again but he doesn’t look, trying to find a way to appease Garrett that will get him to stop. Garrett means well, even if he’s ultra-nosy. But then again, Bram rationalizes, Garrett’s never seen Bram like this before. Trying to buy himself a second, Bram looks at his phone and he smiles a little wider.

_see you at noon, i honestly cannot wait :)_

“I’ve found a place to rest,” Bram mumbles to himself, but he knows Garrett and Nick hear him by the way they lean forward on the table. Bram sits up straight and ignores their curious looks. “I have a date, I have to go.”

He doesn’t look back as he stands up and takes his tray to the trash cans. He’s halfway to the door, hand gripped around the gym bag strap on his shoulder when Garrett yells after him.

“Knock ‘em dead, buddy!”

\---

Bram thought he knew what nerves were, but then he finds himself sitting on a bench in front of the museum, trying to keep himself from picking at his nail beds as he waits for Simon. He’s a few minutes early, and he’s sticking his fingers through the hole in the seam of his sweater when a shadow falls across his legs.

“Hi,” Simon says softly, and Bram looks up to smile at him, his breath catching in his throat. Simon’s forgone his usual hoodie and replaced it with a baby blue knit sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans as Bram stands, shaking his hands behind his back to get rid of the nerves.

“Hi,” Bram replies, and they smile widely at each other. There aren’t many people hanging around outside the museum, as it’s just chilly enough for everyone to head inside upon arrival, so they’re mostly alone as they stand there. Simon lists towards Bram a little, shifting up onto his toes. Reaching over and running his fingers down Simon’s forearm, Bram pulls on his wrist until Simon takes his hands out of his pockets. Bram tangles their fingers together, stepping forward so their clasped hands can hang comfortably between them.

“Let’s go look at some art,” Bram says, eyes lingering on the color painting Simon’s cheeks before he turns to lead them inside.

They follow the flow of people moving around between rooms, keeping close to each other as they walk. Simon tugs on his hand to lead him over to paintings that have caught his eye, and Bram reads off the little cards. There’s a very quiet murmur of noise from the few people in each room, and it means that Simon can lean over and give his unsolicited, generally positive opinion on each piece.

“Bram, look,” Simon says when they’re in a room full of color. Bram’s eyes are lingering on an image of a very colorful mountain when Simon pulls him over to a painting Bram’s seen before.

 _“The Great Wave_ ,” Simon says quietly, his eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares at the woodblock. Bram reads the card in his head, because Simon obviously doesn’t need to know the name, and he smiles when Simon leans his head on Bram’s shoulder.

“I know it’s like, cliché to say this is one of my favorite art pieces, but it really is. My mom has a print of it in her office at home. When I was a kid, I would sit in there with her, and I would try to count the little white dots without moving my head. She says I fell asleep a lot, staring up at it,” Simon says quietly, and Bram squeezes his hand. He feels his chest swell with a fond feeling he’s been refusing to name lately, so he turns his head and rests his nose against Simon’s hair.

They’re walking through a wing of American art when Bram’s feet stop in front of a piece he’s seen before. Simon stops next to him, leaning forward a bit to read the card.

“ _Billie Holiday Singing the Blues,_ ” Simon reads out quietly, and Bram smiles.

“My mom loves this painting,” Bram whispers, leaning against Simon a bit. He’s struck with a feeling of homesickness he hasn’t felt in a while, especially since he was just home for Thanksgiving. Simon squeezes his hand, and Bram wonders what Simon’s reading on his face as Simon brings his free hand over to cup the back of Bram’s hand where it’s tangled with Simon’s. Simon turns a bit, hiding their hands from anyone around them.

“She does?” Simon asks softly, and Bram looks at him. Simon’s face is relaxed, and his lips are turned up just enough to be considered a smile. Bram nods.

“She loves Billie Holiday. She has a few records that she’d play on Saturdays, when we’d make breakfast together and catch up after the week. She’d sing along and I learned a lot of the words to sing with her,” Bram speaks quietly, turning his head so his lips are practically touching Simon’s forehead as he talks. Simon squeezes his hand gently.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her sing,” Simon says honestly, and Bram smiles.

“I have some on my phone, I’ll have to give you a crash course,” Bram says, leaving out the _“especially if you wanna impress my mom”_ because it’s too early to be saying something like that.

They stand in front of the blue painting for a moment longer, Bram pulling his phone out of his pocket to text his mom. He doubts she’ll reply for a while, so he shoves his phone back in his pocket and pulls Simon off towards the next painting with a smile.

It’s almost 2 p.m. when they find themselves in the gift shop, and Simon pulls Bram over to a little rack of postcards. He searches through until he pulls out a postcard with _The Great Wave_ on the front, handing it to Bram as he continues to search. Bram already knows what Simon’s looking for, and when he pulls out the blue painting of Billie Holiday, Bram’s chest swells happily.

Simon buys the postcards, smacking Bram’s hand away when he tries to pull his wallet out. The kind old lady behind the counter laughs at them softly as she puts the postcards in a paper sleeve and hands Simon his receipt. She catches Bram’s eye and winks, and Bram feels his cheeks warm.

“What do you want to eat?” Simon asks as they exit the museum, Simon stumbling into Bram’s side as a gust of wind hits them. Bram thinks of the distance between where they are, and any warm place to eat. He shuffles closer to Simon, reaching up to squeeze his arm for a moment.

“There’s that little deli right near campus,” Bram says, and Simon nods.

“Sandwiches are always good,” he says with a smile, turning on his heel and leading the way down the sidewalk.

It’s beginning to look like rain again once they have their sandwiches and drinks, so Bram suggests they go back to his dorm to eat, saving the park and soccer lessons for another day. It starts to sprinkle right before they reach Bram’s building, and Simon leans his head back and lets some of the water splash on his face before Bram pulls him inside.

Bram takes the blanket off his bed and lays it down on the floor, both kicking off their shoes at the blankets edge. Bram opens the window enough that they can hear the rain, but no water splashes inside. Simon lays out their food and waits patiently as Bram grabs his laptop.

“Are we going to listen to Billie Holiday?” Simon asks, twisting the cap on his lemonade. Bram nods, scrolling down his playlists until he finds the one he made when he was feeling homesick in October.

“If that’s okay,” Bram says, and Simon nods eagerly. Bram sets the laptop on an empty expanse of the blanket and presses play.

Simon sets the postcards down on the blanket before he unwraps his sandwich, scooting so he’s sitting a little closer to Bram. Bram just smiles and leans against the side of his bed, his feet flat on the ground as he chews on his sandwich.

“It’s jazz,” Simon says after a bit, and Bram nods. “The painting said singing the blues, though.”

“I think it was a nod to the colors,” Bram says, and Simon nods slowly.

“What’s the difference between blues and jazz?” Simon asks, tilting his head back slightly to look up at the ceiling. Bram shrugs, his shoulder coming into contact with the hair hanging off the back of Simon’s head. He feels the inexplicable need to touch him, so he reaches out with the hand not holding his sandwich and brushes his fingers against the ends of Simon’s hair. If he feels anything, Simon doesn’t show it.

“Blues is a specific chord progression, while jazz is more open to interpretation. They’re very similar though,” Bram says, and Simon hums. He turns his head until he’s looking at Bram with his cheek smashed up against his shoulder.

“You know your music,” Simon states, a happy little smile tugging at his lips. Bram shrugs, bringing his sandwich to his mouth.

They’re quiet for a while then, both busy eating their food and listening to the music. Simon opens his chips when he’s done with his sandwich, scooting back until he’s next to Bram, their shoulders touching. Bram rolls his drink between his hands, the cool glass smooth to the touch. Simon reaches over after a bit and stops him, tugging until Bram places the bottle down and their fingers tangle.  Bram smiles at this natural progression, the itching beneath his skin subsiding.

“It’s very beautiful music,” Simon whispers when there’s a lull between songs. “She has a beautiful voice.”

“It’s why my mom loves her,” Bram says, looking down at where Simon’s resting his head against the outside of Bram’s bicep. He’s already looking up, and they share a smile.

“Admit it, you like her, too,” Simon says softly, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. It rains a little harder for a moment, the droplets sounding over the beginning notes of the next song.

“I never said I didn’t,” Bram counters, to which Simon nods. He taps his foot along to the song that’s playing, one that Bram knows all the words to.

“This is the kind of music you dance to,” Simon says after a moment, and Bram’s chest flutters. He leans against Simon until Simon’s sitting up straight, and Bram stands. He holds out his hand, pulling Simon up until they’re standing toe to toe, Simon’s cheeks pink. Bram holds up his hand for Simon to take, and holds open his arm. Simon looks at him in confusion for only a moment before he’s taking Bram’s lead.

Simon’s ears are progressively reddening as Bram turns them in time to the beat, singing along in his head. Simon ducks his head down until his nose is pressed to Bram’s shoulder, and Bram pulls him a little closer as the song slips into the musical break. Bram hums along, bouncing a little to make Simon laugh. He stands up to his full height and smiles at Bram, their faces closer than before.

_I begged on the stars, to throw me a dream or two…_

“I don’t think we should count this as a first date,” Bram whispers into the space between them, and Simon’s eyebrows come together in confusion.

“Why?”

“Well,” Bram turns them on a faster beat, Simon giggling in his arms. He uses the hand on Simon’s back to push him out into a twirl, and the smile on Simon’s face is wide and bright. When Bram twirls Simon back into his arms, he continues. “My mom told me to never kiss on a first date.”

Simon’s smile dims slightly, but his eyes are shining with what Bram thinks is excitement.

“You spoon on the first date, but you don’t kiss?” Simon teases, and Bram bites his bottom lip as he laughs.

“Hey, that’s a drag on you, too,” Bram says, Simon shrugging and moving a bit closer. The song is coming to a close, but they continue to turn on a beat shared between them.

“What did your mom say about second dates?” Simon whispers, their gentle turning coming to a halt as they gaze at each other. Bram lets go of Simon’s hand and slides his fingers up until they’re at the base of Simon’s neck. Simon’s eyes flutter slightly, something Bram doesn’t miss.

“She said if I was lucky to get one, I’d better make it count,” he whispers back, leaning down a bit. He falters that close, his brain going a little fuzzy at every implication of what’s about to happen. Simon nudges their noses together, breaths tickling each other’s mouths, and that’s when Bram’s brain decides to work.

Bram’s eyes close the second their lips touch, a hesitant press that has Bram’s fingers and toes tingling. He turns his head and presses a bit harder, his hand at Simon’s neck moving to cup his jaw. Simon wraps both of his arms around Bram’s waist, his fingers digging into Bram’s back as their lips move together, pressing experimentally.

Bram sucks in a breath when he pulls back, Simon doing the same, and they open their eyes to smile at each other. Simon giggles after a moment, and Bram chuckles as well, before Simon presses up on his toes and kisses Bram again. It’s a little better this time, the way their lips slot together. Bram’s chest starts to tingle as he slides his fingers into Simon’s hair, fulfilling an urge he’s had for weeks. Simon’s hands on Bram’s back pull him in closer, and Bram breathes in through his nose as their chests press together. The bottom of Simon’s glasses press into Bram’s cheeks but he doesn’t care.

“I’m glad this is our second date,” Simon whispers when he drops back on his toes, their chests still pressed together by the arm Bram has tight around Simon’s back.

“Will you still cuddle on the second date?” Bram asks softly, and Simon huffs a laugh against Bram’s face.

“It’s a little different now,” Simon starts, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Bram’s breath catches in his throat. “It’s not that platonic anymore.”

“Be real, it was barely platonic to begin with.”

Simon laughs a little louder, and they lean in to kiss again. If possible, Bram thinks it’s better than the one before.

\---

When they curl up next to each other that night, they’re facing each other. The rain is still falling outside and Bram’s phone is still playing the playlist from earlier, faintly from his nightstand. Simon’s hands find Bram’s face in the dark and he holds him still as he kisses Bram, his lips working Bram’s open until their tongues are pushing into each other’s mouths. Simon lets out a soft moan in the back of his throat that has Bram pulling him close, arms locked around Simon’s middle. When they break apart, they giggle against each other’s skin.

“This is like a fifteenth date,” Simon mumbles into the pillow, and Bram chuckles.

“How do you figure?” Bram asks, his fingers finding their way into Simon’s hair again. It’s soft against his hands, and every time he twists strands around his fingers, Simon’s smile gets a little wider.

“Bram… we have been _platonically_ cuddling for over a month now,” Simon laughs, his nose bumping into Bram’s. Their eyes meet in the dark, Simon squinting to see Bram clearly.

“Hey, now, weren’t you the one who said that it was playing into toxic masculinity to think men couldn’t platonically cuddle their best friends?” Bram scratches at Simon’s scalp, and Simon rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but we’re gay,” Simon deadpans, Bram letting out a series of noises before he laughs, turning his face into the pillow to muffle the loud noise. He hears Simon giggling by his ear, a hand coming up to put pressure on the back of his neck.

“We still could’ve kept it platonic,” Bram mumbles against the fabric, and Simon tuts.

“Maybe,” he whispers. Bram brings his face out of the pillow to look at Simon, just visible in the low light coming in from the window. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, visible lines where Bram’s fingers once were, and his cheek is smushed against the pillow. Neither of them have stopped smiling since laying down, but Simon’s smile is soft and delicate on his face.

Bram reaches out and touches the side of Simon’s mouth, his fingers lingering there for a moment. Simon’s face relaxes, his eyes closing slightly as Bram runs his fingers up his cheekbone and to the soft blond curls on his forehead. Pushing them back, Bram lets his fingers slide through Simon’s hair until his hand is cradling the back of Simon’s head. Eyes still half lidded, Simon shifts on the pillow, bringing their faces close enough for their noses to touch.

“No,” Bram whispers, that familiar feeling returning to his chest as he looks into Simon’s eyes up close. Simon blinks slowly, his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. His forehead creases for a moment.

“Huh?” Simon whispers, his eyes focusing before Bram scratches his scalp and his eyes close again.

“We couldn’t have kept it platonic,” Bram whispers, and it’s a moment before Simon makes an agreeable noise.

“Could you imagine?” Simon shakes his head, their noses rubbing together. Simon slips his hand under the back of Bram’s sleep shirt, his hand flat against the small of Bram’s back, and Bram closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a knowing look on Simon’s face. Bram leans in and kisses him again.

\---

“You don’t need to tense your whole body to create a lot of power for the kick. Keep your shoulders relaxed and don’t worry about how far the ball goes,” Bram says, bouncing the ball in his hands. Simon’s watching him with a happy smile on his face, his chin tucked into his jacket. He’s wearing a dark blue beanie over his hair against the slight chill in the air, and the apples of his cheeks are pink.

Bram’s very close to naming that fond feeling in his chest.

“When do I get to see how far I can kick it?” Simon asks, coming over and grabbing the ball from Bram. He drops it onto the grass, tapping the inside of his shoes against the sides of the ball.

“I mean, anytime, just know you’re the one that has to go get it,” Bram says, and Simon shrugs.

“That’s fair,” he says, taking a few steps back. Bram moves back just as Simon’s foot connects with the ball and it goes soaring through the air, down the expanse of the field towards the trees.

“Who knew someone with chicken legs could kick that hard?” Bram teases, and Simon reaches over to poke his sides in retaliation. Laughing at the tickling sensation, Bram grabs Simon’s hands and pulls them to his chest, holding them tight.

“You like my chicken legs.” Simon sticks out his tongue, the toes of their shoes touching in the grass. Bram quirks an eyebrow.

“It’s possible.” Bram bumps his nose against Simon’s. “Now, go get the ball so I can show you how to aim.”

“Yes, dear,” Simon jokes, pulling his beanie down as he turns to walk away.

Bram jogs over to where their things are sitting in the grass, pulling out his phone. There’s a bunch of texts in his group chat with Garrett and Nick, and Bram’s trying to read through them when something wraps around his shoulders.

“So, this is where the boyfriends go on a sunny Saturday afternoon,” Nick says in Bram’s ear, and Bram ducks out from under his arm with a smile.

“You act like you didn’t know exactly where we were,” Bram laughs, dropping his phone back into his things. He looks down the field and sees Simon attempting to dribble the ball back to where they’re standing, a smile forming on his face unbidden. Garrett’s jogging down to where Simon is, and Nick follows Bram’s gaze, a knowing smile forming on his face.

“He’s hopeless, but I think it’s cute that you’re trying,” Nick says, looking back at Bram.

“Maybe you’re a bad teacher,” Bram counters, ducking as Nick tries to wrap his arm back around Bram’s shoulders.

“I’ve been trying to teach Simon since I was ten, I couldn’t have been a bad teacher then,” Nick yells after Bram, dropping his stuff before he follows Bram onto the field.

“Whatever, Eisner,” Bram says over his shoulder. Garrett has the ball now, and he’s slowly dribbling it, Simon’s eyes glued to Garrett’s feet. Nick walks up next to Bram just as Garrett kicks the ball a little harder and it moves across the grass, stopping right in front of Bram.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can do that,” Simon says, looking up and meeting Bram’s eyes. Walking a little faster, Simon comes to stand at Bram’s side, slipping his hand into Bram’s.

“You can, it just takes practice,” Garrett assures Simon, reaching over to poke Simon’s shoulder. Shaking his head, Simon laughs a little.

“Or, we can all agree I’m athletically inept and you guys can go about kicking the ball around with all of that… finesse,” Simon says, Nick snorting as he laughs.

“Hey, don’t give up that easily,” Bram says, turning to look at Simon. Garrett takes the ball into his hands and starts moving down the field, beckoning for Nick to follow, and before Simon can respond, they’re standing alone.

“I’m not giving up. I’ll try again later. I just wanted a moment alone,” Simon says, ducking his head down. Bram smiles as he turns his head so his lips rest against Simon’s hair.

“Oh?”

“I mean, this was supposed to be a date,” Simon says, looking up at Bram. Bram shrugs, ignoring Garrett and Nick as they yell at each other. Bram’s usually the referee between them, but today, he has a boyfriend to pay attention to.

“Did you really think kicking a ball in a field was the only thing I had planned for today?” Bram asks, and Simon’s mouth opens slightly, his eyes squinting. “Simon, it’s our one week anniversary. Very serious business. There’s more to today than just this.”

Simon beams up at him, and Bram forgets that they’re standing in a park for a moment and bends down to kiss Simon. Simon’s lips are a little cold but they warm under Bram’s.

“What if I want to sit here in the grass with you for a while and watch Garrett and Nick yell at each other?” Simon asks, still leaning against Bram’s side.

“As long as you keep holding my hand,” Bram mumbles, his cheeks warming a little against the cool air. Simon presses a quick kiss to Bram’s lips.

“Of course,” Simon replies with a smile.

\---

_Nine months later_

Garrett’s drunk.

“Bram, Bram, Bram!” he yells, getting progressively louder to be heard over the music. Bram grimaces as Garrett stumbles and ends up breathing heavily into his ear, and Bram reaches up to steady his friend.

“You okay, there?” Bram laughs, pushing on Garrett’s shoulders until he’s upright. Garrett nods, his eyes a little glassy.

“Bram, you have to meet this girl,” Garrett starts to say, looking behind him for someone. His eyebrows knit in confusion when he doesn’t see what he wants, and Bram attempts to slip away. Garrett notices though, mostly because he lists where he stands.

“Bram,” Garrett whines, and Bram rolls his eyes.

“Garrett,” Bram replies, just as whiny, and that’s when Nick appears.

“Holy shit, he’s drunk,” Nick says immediately, and Bram’s eyes widen as he nods. Nick just laughs, slipping an arm around Garrett’s middle to keep him upright.

“Nick, there you are, Nick, you have to meet this girl,” Garrett starts again, looking around. Bram just shakes his head, and when Garrett looks back at his friends, he’s frowning. “Lads, I don’t – where’d she go?”

“I don’t know, champ,” Nick says as he maneuvers Garrett towards the wall, where Garrett can lean on something that doesn’t have knees and a nose. Garrett thumps against the wall and sighs.

“Rejected again,” he says forlornly, and Bram and Nick share a look as they laugh.

“Garrett, she probably just went to find another drink,” Bram says, looking over his shoulder at the crowd. “That’s where I was headed when you tongued my ear.”

Garrett squawks, holding his hand to his chest.

“I – I would never. That’s Simon’s job. Wait, where’s Simon?”

Bram shrugs, his stomach twisting slightly. It’s mostly the alcohol, but also that he doesn’t know where his boyfriend is and he wants to hold his hand.

“I saw him headed towards the kitchen. I’ll take care of Drunky McDrunk,” Nick offers, jerking his head towards where Bram knows the kitchen is. Smiling, Bram reaches over and cups Nick’s face.

“You are – the best,” he says, shaking Nick’s head gently.

“Yeah, yeah, go make out with my best friend already,” Nick replies, Bram winking as he walks away.

The overhead lights are off in the kitchen, the room illuminated by a string of holiday lights strung low on the wall. There’s a girl grabbing a stack of cups that scoots by Bram as he enters, giving him a quick once over as she goes. Someone’s on the floor under the table, legs straight out, mumbling to themselves. And hunched over the counter, searching through the bag of chips, is Simon.

He doesn’t look up when Bram enters the room, so Bram walks quietly across the floor and wraps his arms around Simon from behind, giggling as Simon jumps.

“What the – Bram!” Simon yells, trying to turn around, but Bram holds him tight.

“Hi,” Bram says in Simon’s ear, and he feels Simon relax in his arms.

“Hi,” Simon replies, turning his head until he can see Bram’s face. “Are you going to let go of me?”

“Nope.” Bram kisses the side of his head, and Simon shrugs. He turns back to the counter, pulling Bram with him as he picks up bags and packages, searching. He presses back into Bram as he leans forward, and Bram bites his bottom lip as he lets go and moves to stand next to Simon. There’s a smirk on Simon’s face.

“What are you looking for, babe?” Bram asks, and Simon hums to himself. He picks up a rather large bag of tortilla chips and yells in triumph.

“These!” he yells, holding up a package of Oreos. Bram should’ve known.

“Of course,” Bram says, smiling as Simon opens the package and pulls out a handful of cookies. He deposits a few in Bram’s waiting hand before shoving two in his mouth. Bram laughs, covering his mouth with his hand as Simon glares.

“Thank you for sharing the sacred food,” Bram jokes, and Simon rolls his eyes.

“Drunk Simon shares Oreos with cute guys at parties,” Simon says, and Bram feels his cheeks warm, like Simon doesn’t say things like this every day.

“Are there _other_ cute guys?” Bram teases, and Simon frowns. He pulls the package of cookies to his chest, stopping Bram from grabbing any more.

“Don’t play with my heart, Abraham,” Simon says dramatically.

“You’re the one playing with mine.”

Simon coughs to cover up his amused laugh. “I’m going to go lay in the grass in the backyard and eat these in peace.”

He turns on his heel and heads towards the door, pausing near the cups table to stop and look over his shoulder. Bram’s still standing at the counter, chewing thoughtfully on a cookie as he watches Simon walk away.

“Well, are you coming?” he asks, pushing out his bottom lip far enough that it’s barely a pout. Bram pushes off the counter and walks over to Simon, placing his hands on Simon’s hips when he reaches him. Simon’s eyes flutter slightly as Bram leans down, their foreheads touching. Bram doesn’t connect their lips, pauses there as Simon leans into him. Bram slides his hands up Simon’s sides, his fingers brushing against the plastic in Simon’s arms.

“Yeah,” Bram breathes out, gripping the Oreo package and pulling them to his chest, stepping back from Simon fast enough that Simon stumbles, blinking as Bram takes off through the crowd towards the back door. Simon yells after him, laughing as he starts to follow.

Bram’s standing in the middle of the backyard, cookies held over his head in triumph when Simon stumbles down the back steps and slams his body into Bram’s, knocking them both to the ground. Bram laughs high in his throat, gasping for air as Simon wrestles the package from his hands, rolling off Bram to sit up in the grass, glaring at his boyfriend.

“That was rude,” Simon yells as Bram continues to giggle, his hands on his stomach as his muscles start to hurt a little. “You can’t keep doing that!”

Bram shakes his head, rolling over onto his side and bringing his knees up to his chest. He reaches out and touches Simon’s thigh, squeezing slightly.

“I’m so sorry, babe, I just couldn’t resist,” Bram gasps as he starts to calm down, giggles subsiding. Simon’s still glaring at him, his mouth twitching with barely contained laughter.

“You don’t get any more,” Simon says, turning on his bottom and sticking his legs out straight. He flops back carefully onto the grass, huffing as his back hits the ground. He balances the package on his stomach, hands still holding onto it tight.

Bram scoots over until he’s right next to Simon, chin on his shoulder. Simon ignores him as he chews on a cookie, staring up at the night sky. Bram leans in and huffs into Simon’s ear, feeling triumphant when Simon brings his shoulders up. He elbows Bram, attempting to move away, but Bram wraps an arm around Simon’s waist and presses his chest to Simon’s side.

“I’m not giving you another cookie,” Simon says, still refusing to look at Bram, even though his lips are turned up in a small smile. Bram smiles too, because Simon can never keep up the façade long.

“I don’t want a cookie,” Bram whispers, the backyard quieting as a door slams shut.

“What do you want, then?” Simon asks, turning his head enough to see Bram’s face. Bram smiles at him.

“A kiss,” Bram murmurs, watching as Simon’s entire face softens. It’s the most beautiful thing Bram’s ever seen, the face Simon makes when he’s happy like this.

“I can give you one of those,” Simon intones, Bram bringing his chin off Simon’s shoulder to press their lips together. Bram’s mouth tastes like warm liquor and Oreos, but then a tongue licks into his and all he can taste is Simon.

“Thank you,” Bram whispers, both of them giggling drunkenly. Bram turns over onto his back, keeping their shoulders pressed together. Simon lets go of the Oreo package to lace his fingers with Bram’s, their hands fitting together comfortably.

Simon eventually holds out a cookie for Bram, and he takes it with a small smile. They’re quiet as they lay there, squeezing their clasped hands every few seconds, their smiles growing. Simon looks over at Bram after a moment, his face lighting up when he realizes Bram’s already looking at him.

“The sky is so beautiful,” Simon whispers, neither of them breaking eye contact. Bram nods.

“You say that a lot,” Bram observes, and Simon shrugs his free shoulder.

“Am I ever wrong, though?” Simon asks, and Bram shakes his head. Simon’s eyes rival the stars as he smiles, and Bram’s stomach flutters happily.

“Remember the night we met?” Bram asks after a moment, their eyes not moving from each other. Bram’s loathe to look away, the moonlight dancing beautifully across Simon’s skin and hair.

“Yeah, at this party last year,” Simon says with a smile, sliding the Oreos off his stomach to tilt his body towards Bram. Bram turns back onto his side, bringing their clasped hands up to his lips and kissing Simons knuckles.

“Remember that embarrassing stuff I said?” Bram tries to joke, but Simon’s shaking his head.

“Not embarrassing. Meaningful, even if you were a little drunk. And it was that conversation that made me want to know you better.”

Simon’s honesty makes Bram’s chest swoop, and it takes all of his self-control to not lean over and kiss Simon just yet.

“I wanted to know you better when you used your hands to drink from the faucet,” Bram says, and Simon groans.

“God, don’t remind me. I was too nervous to turn around and look for the cups, so I just… did that,” Simon groans, rolling his eyes at himself.

“You were nervous?” Bram asks, and Simon nods. They’ve never talked in depth about the night they met, and Bram’s emotions are swirling at everything Simon’s saying.

“Yeah! I had seen you after soccer practice once when I met Nick and I was like, ‘wow, that guy is really hot,’ and then I was sure I’d never get a chance to talk to you because Nick said you were pretty introverted, and then there he is, talking to you at the party he’d dragged me to and it was like… fate,” Simon whispers the last part, shaking his head. “And then I got to actually talk to you, and you were so honest about feeling alone and you said that thing about not knowing which way was to shore and I just…”

Bram leans in and presses a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, not knowing how else to respond. Simon has alluded to the fact that he’d had a pretty massive crush on Bram by the time they started “platonically” cuddling, but he’s never said anything more.

“I love you,” Bram whispers against Simon’s lips, feeling the moment Simon hears and his lips turn up in a wide smile. Bram doesn’t need to see Simon’s face to know what it looks like, as it’s the same look every time, just like the first time. Wide smile, bright crinkly eyes. A little scrunch in his nose.

“And, as long as we’re sharing,” Bram says before Simon can reply. “I was pretty much in love with you the second you looked at me in the kitchen.”

“Babe,” Simon coos, reaching up with his free hand to cup Bram’s cheek as he leans in for another kiss. This one lasts a little longer, and Simon pushes himself up on his elbow when Bram licks his mouth open. They pull back with a satisfying click.

“I love you.” Simon touches the center of Bram’s chest, trailing his fingers down to Bram’s stomach. Bram sucks in a breath, his stomach filling with all too familiar butterflies. A welcome reaction to Simon.

“Thank you,” Bram whispers, and Simon’s forehead creases.

“For what?”

“For being there. Being a friend, making me laugh, offering to cuddle with me, keeping me grounded during finals, never laughing, or making me feel weird. And then, after all that, saying yes when I asked you to be my boyfriend,” Bram whispers, and Simon shakes his head.

“You say that like doing all of those things was some great hardship when, really, it all just made me fall in love with you,” Simon says, and Bram’s chest fills with butterflies, his throat clicking when he opens his mouth.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Bram starts, his lips hovering over Simon’s, “so for now I’m just going to kiss you.”

Simon hums in the back of his throat, stars brighter than the ones in the sky exploding behind Bram’s eyelids, and he thanks all of them for the lips against his own, the arms wrapping around his shoulders, and the butterflies beating against his ribs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm hoping to write some more long oneshots over the month of june before i go on vacation in july. if you need some spierfeld to read before then, there's always more on my page. 
> 
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> [tumblr](http://emilyspier.tumblr.com)


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